I See You
by Terp4Life
Summary: Maybe it only happened this way in my head... Following the slow burn storyline of the show, adding in all kinds of extras. Jane and Kurt, and those "heart eyes" that they're always giving each other.
1. Bright Lights

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

She became conscious slowly, her senses only beginning to send information to her brain little by little. Everything around her was fuzzy; indistinct and confused, much like her thoughts. What was going on? Her eyes blinked open, but to no avail. There was only blackness around her, and she felt herself begin to panic. Why couldn't she see anything? Was there something wrong with her eyes? No, she didn't think so. Instead, she could feel that she was confined inside something, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly _how_ , and she definitely didn't know _why_.

Her hands reached out unsteadily into the blackness around her, and she could feel some sort of material, some kind of fabric, only a few inches from her face. She tried to stretch out her legs, but her feet and knees had barely moved an inch when they brushed against the same kind of fabric that her hands had found. Her arms and legs weren't bound, but she was definitely trapped inside something. Her brain still couldn't process exactly what was happening. It was still waking up only slowly from wherever she had been, and she felt sluggish as she tried to think clearly. She felt herself begin to panic, and she took a deep breath.

 _Get a hold of yourself. There has to be an explanation, and you won't find it if you're freaking out._

She began to take an inventory of her senses, as if contacting the various parts of her body individually for a status report of sorts. Nothing was _hurting_ , exactly, though she ached all over. Her skin was crawling, almost burning, but she didn't feel anything _on_ her… it was a sensation like no other she'd ever experienced. Her hands, feet, arms and legs had all registered the same coarse material, so clearly something was all around her somehow.

As far as sounds went, everything seemed eerily quiet. She couldn't see anything, and the smell in the air around her was familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. The scent was strong enough that she felt as though she should be able to identify it, and yet… she had no idea what it was. Her mouth and throat felt so parched that she wondered if she would be able to speak – if she were given the chance. All she wanted right now was to ask questions, to find out what in the world was going on, and what had happened to her. Clearly, _something_ had happened to her.

Her hands continued to explore the fabric around her, trying to find a break, a hole, anything that would give her more information. Suddenly her fingers found the familiar cold metal teeth that gave her the clue that she needed. It was a zipper.

 _What the hell? I'm inside a… a_ _ **bag**_? Her mind was racing as fast as it could in her sluggish condition, trying to decode the few clues that she'd been given so far. It just didn't make sense. _Why_ would she be inside a bag? And _how_ had she gotten there? And _who_ the hell would've put her there?

She felt herself begin to shake. Something was very, very wrong, and the longer she was conscious, the more aware of this she became. She was tuning in more and more to the messages her senses were sending her with each passing moment.

The next thing she realized was that she was _naked_.

 _So I'm in a bag, and I'm_ _ **naked**_ _. Wait, what? Why? How? Who could possibly be responsible for this?_

Staying calm wasn't really an option, but she did her best, and forced herself to think of something – anything – she could do to try to get herself out of the situation.

 _OK,_ she told herself groggily, so _you're in a bag. The first thing you need to do is get_ _ **out**_ _of the bag._ It seemed like as good a place to start as any. She only hoped that it was that simple.

Taking a deep breath, she worked her fingers along the cold metal line of the zipper until she found one end. She inhaled sharply in frustration as she found the end of the zipper but no opening, and ran her fingers back along the metal to find the opposite end, the one that she hoped she'd be able to pry open.

It was slow work, especially because her fingers and her brain weren't quite working together as a team, but once she found the place where the two halves of the zipper met, which happened to be at the middle of the bag, she was able to work one side of the zipper slowly backwards along the metal teeth.

As the two sides of the bag slowly gaped open, she found herself blinded, more so with every inch she moved the zipper. She had the feeling that the sun itself was actually just outside the bag – that was how bright the light felt as it assaulted her eyes. She blinked and turned her head at the intensity, not having had a chance to adjust to the light gradually after being in total darkness for who knew how long.

Once the now open zipper reached one end of the bag, she pulled an arm out and, even without being able to see it, located and tugged the second zipper to the opposite end, allowing the bag to fall open. One limb at a time, she stepped out into the cold night air. She still couldn't make out more than fuzzy shapes in the distance, her eyes were so sensitive and the lights were so bright. Her bare feet came in contact with concrete as she slowly emerged from the bag, but that was the only clue she had as to her whereabouts.

Why were there _so many_ lights? Where _was_ she? She could remember literally nothing that gave her any context or reassurance about what might be happening to her. Panic seized her as she realized that not knowing _where_ she was was the least of her problems. No, she realized in terror, she had no memory of _who_ she was. But how could that be?

 _What's wrong with me?_ her mind screamed silently.

She saw a dark shadow in front of her, in stark contrast to the bright light, and heard a voice screaming at her, telling her to turn around and get down on her knees. What was _happening?_ She shook violently as she tried to follow the directions that were being hurled at her. Struggling to keep from falling to the ground completely, she lowered herself slowly to her knees, attempting to keep her hands on the sides of her head. Considering how hard she was shaking, it wasn't easy. A cold breeze blew against her bare skin, which only made her shaking worse.

Her head was now pounding from pure sensory overload. The lights, the sounds, the fact that she could not make herself remember anything – not a single thing – about herself, her life, where she was or how she'd gotten there. And then hands were grabbing at her roughly, pulling her up and then dragging her along with them, taking her who knew where. Some sort of blanket was wrapped around her, for which she was grateful, and she remembered once again that she had been naked when she had emerged from the bag.

Someone told her to sit down, and she obeyed gladly, unsure that she could hold herself upright much longer. This was a nightmare. It had to be, and she would be waking up any second. There were simply too many things wrong with this situation for it to be real.

At least she _prayed_ , sitting on the hard bench, still barely able to focus her eyes on anything around her, that she would wake up any second. This _couldn't_ be real.

 _Please, don't let this be real._

…

It was the ticking sound that she first became aware of, even before she opened her eyes. She had no idea how much time had passed since the last thing she remembered, which was the nightmare of climbing out of the bag into the cold night air. This time, she noticed, she wore some sort of thin hospital gown and was lying in a bed, covered by a white sheet and a thin white blanket in a room with stark white walls. It was as though all color had been removed from the world, and the effect was almost as frightening as the scene had been outside. She felt her pulse quicken, and tried to steady herself with a deep breath.

Sitting up in bed and looking around the room, she noted with relief that she felt less groggy, and that her senses seemed to be reacting more normally than they had been the last time she had been awake. Still, she had no idea where she was, how she had gotten there, or once again, even _who_ she was. She looked across the large, mostly empty room to see what appeared to be a large, tinted window. Her eyes darted around the room nervously and within seconds her heart was beating so fast she wasn't convinced that it wouldn't pound right through her chest. Who was on the other side of that window? Was someone watching her? Who? And why?

A short, dark haired woman in a white lab coat suddenly opened the door, startling her from her thoughts. She looked up at the woman with fear in her eyes, pulling the sheet up around her tightly. The other woman smiled sympathetically at her as she walked slowly towards her.

"Hi, my name is Sarah," she told her, keeping steady eye contact. Sarah smiled at her, so she tried to smile back, but succeeded only weakly. She hoped that this woman named Sarah wouldn't come any closer. It wasn't anything against her, she seemed nice enough, but she really just wanted someone to tell her what the hell was going on before anyone got any closer to her.

Sarah stopped a few feet from her, and hesitated before coming any closer, which made her wonder fleetingly if she could read her thoughts. "You're safe here. We're at the FBI building in New York City," Sarah told her soothingly. After smiling warmly at her for a moment, Sarah's face suddenly changed, and she looked nervous instead. She could tell that Sarah didn't want to say whatever it was that she needed to say.

"What am I doing here?" she asked quickly, before Sarah could spit out whatever it was.

Sarah hesitated, but then asked, "Do you know a Kurt Weller?"

She looked away from Sarah's piercing gaze and shook her head quickly, not ready to admit that she didn't even know who _she_ was.

"Well… you're here because we – the FBI – that is… well, the bag that they found you in, there was a tag on the bag that said 'call the FBI,' and…" Sarah clearly didn't want to say whatever else it was she needed to say.

"Just tell me," she told Sarah in a voice that was far more self-assured than she actually felt.

"Kurt Weller is one of our agents here, and… well… his name is tattooed on your back," Sarah told her finally, looking as though she wasn't sure whether to come closer or leave the room as quickly as she could. "Did you know that?"

"His name is… _what?"_ she replied to Sarah, completely taken aback. Her total shock was evident from the fact that she couldn't even repeat the words. Sarah took a step forward, causing the woman's face to become even more terrified, and once again, Sarah stopped where she was.

As Sarah looked on from a few feet away, the woman in the bed with no memory looked down at herself for the first time since she had awoken, and her mouth fell open in horror. Almost every inch of skin that she could see was covered in dark, mostly black, tattoos. There were pictures, numbers, letters, and what looked like abstract art. It was… _everywhere_. Watching her, Sarah expected her to scream, but she simply sat on the bed with a horrified look on her face and her mouth hanging open, examining all of the marks that covered her.

Her breathing became more and more rapid, and for a moment she felt light-headed.

 _What the…_

 _But how could…_

 _I don't…_

 _Oh my God…_

She was working hard enough to keep breathing, much less form sentences. Throwing the blankets off of her legs, she found still more tattoos, again covering nearly every inch of her skin. It seemed quite possible to her that she was going to be sick. She turned sideways and lowered her feet to the floor, stood up and turned to try to see the backs of her legs and parts of her shoulders and neck that she hadn't yet seen. Again, she thought that this _must_ be a nightmare.

Sarah noticed that the woman suddenly appeared to be hyperventilating as she stood examining the tattoos that covered her, so for her own good, the woman in the lab coat stepped forward to intervene and get her back into bed.

Suddenly, she was gasping for breath. It was all too much. _There are tattoos covering my entire body, and I can't even remember who I am or how I ended up naked, in a duffle bag, in the middle of – where am I again? – New York City…_ the last thing she remembered before she fainted was seeing the look of concern on Sarah's face, and thinking that there wasn't going to be anything that this woman, or anyone else for that matter, was going to be able to do to help her. It was her last coherent thought, because after that her mind seemed to go into overload and simply shut down, and it was only seconds after that that everything went dark.

Before Sarah could make it to her side, the other woman collapsed. Sarah knelt beside her, checking her vitals. It had obviously been a shock to her to find the tattoos, which her medical team had noticed immediately when they'd brought her in the night before. After all, they were impossible to miss. Her pulse was steady, if still a little elevated, but she was breathing and not in immediate distress. Sarah needed to call for some help, so she stood up and quickly walked back to the door that she had entered through only a few minutes before. She had a feeling that this was only the beginning.


	2. A Feeling

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

It had been a normal, exhausting day. Scratch that, it had actually been two days all rolled into one, because the team had been tracking the suspect that they had just apprehended for over forty-eight hours already. Not that it was the first time that that had happened. On the contrary, they were no strangers to days that stretched well beyond the actual twenty-four hours dictionary definition of a day.

After breaking the floor out from under the armed suspect, agents Weller, Reade and Zapata had apprehended the man – once he'd been wrestled to the ground. He'd been holding numerous women hostage in his home, handcuffed. There had been a screaming baby there as well, but in the end all of them were safe. While to most people, this may have sounded incredibly frightening, to Kurt Weller, it was all in a day's work. He'd been in far more serious situations in the past, so this one didn't phase him. He and his team – agents Reade and Zapata – worked just as well under life-threatening pressure as they did in the office.

After all, he was the team's lead FBI agent, and a damned good one. In fact, he had something of a reputation as a human version of a superhero in his department. While he didn't _always_ succeed, his success rate was hard to argue with. More times than not, he was able to resolve the conflicts that he was sent to handle, and with a minimum of casualties. He considered himself lucky more than anything, and never felt like his success entitled him to act like anything other than what he was – a hardworking agent who was there to help people. He was serious, career focused and always thinking about what came next. The end of one case simply meant the beginning of the next.

Some would call him obsessive when it came to his job, at the expense of all other parts of his life. Those people would have been right. It didn't bode well for having a life outside of his career, but that was a trade-off that he had made long ago. He'd tried having a life, meeting up with friends he knew from outside the Bureau, going out on dates – mostly with women that his well-meaning sister, Sarah, had set him up with. Somehow, though, it never quite worked. He just didn't seem to click with people. Granted, people thought that he was nice enough, but his intensity was just too much for many of them. Even outside of work on his time off he was serious, quiet and didn't seem to quite connect with others. No one understood his dedication to his work, which could pull him away from literally _any_ situation with no warning. Eventually, people grew tired of playing second fiddle to his job, which he accepted. That was just the way it was.

Only his sister truly understood him, and saw him for what he really was: the big-hearted teddy bear of a man who sought to right the evils of the world as some sort of penance for the wrong that he had convinced himself that he had committed at the age of ten. Twenty-five years later, innumerable lives had been saved by Kurt Weller, but only _she_ saw his obsessive work ethic for what it was: the method in which he continued to punish himself for something that hadn't been his fault to start with. She'd tried to talk to him many times throughout the years, to make him see that he wasn't to blame. So many others had tried as well, but no one had gotten through. So she did the only thing she could do, and looked out for him the best she could. It seemed funny that a senior FBI agent would need looking out for, but when it came down to it, he did. He didn't make it easy, of course, but they were family, and she understood how much he needed her, even if he didn't realize it himself.

Like with most things in life, there was a reason he was the way he was – why he never, ever seemed to relax. One event from his childhood had shaped his whole life, and turned him into this person who was the definition of the word _driven_. Long ago, he had been best friends with the girl who'd lived next door to them. She had been five years old when he'd been ten, and most of his memories up to that age included both his sister and the girl from next door. There were also plenty of memories of just the two of them, since the little girl had been happy to tramp through the woods with him when his sister preferred to be in the house playing with her dolls.

They were rarely apart, and even more seldom disagreed on anything. She had looked up to him so completely, she would have done nearly anything he'd asked of her. He returned this devotion in kind, and always felt personally responsible for her happiness and well-being, since her mother was often not around. It was hard to articulate the bond between them. _Best friends_ didn't seem strong enough. It was as though they were two parts of a whole.

Her name had been Taylor Shaw, and one night, the year that she was five and he was ten, she had disappeared without a trace, vanished from her bedroom one night. No matter what anyone had said in all of the years since then, he had always held himself responsible for her disappearance. Her mother had trusted him to look out for her, and he had let her down. To him, it was just that simple.

Because of this burden that he had never been able to live down, his life had been a never ending quest for justice. His tireless pursuit of any and all criminals, especially when the cases involved children, was what his coworkers noticed, along with the fact that no matter how many cases he solved, it was never enough. There was no point at which he seemed to feel that he had earned a break. It was always just "What's next?" Those around him could simply not understand where he found the stamina to keep going from one intense case to the next without stopping to breathe.

He came across this way because he actually _felt_ this way. No matter how successful he was, it was never enough. Deep down, probably deeper than even _he_ realized, was the feeling that until he found out what had happened to Taylor, none of his other successes mattered. Not to _him_. Not _really_.

When he would look back on that case later, that case where they'd captured the man by making him fall through the floor of his own house with door charges, the last case when they'd been a team of three – himself, Reade and Zapata – in the field, it would be difficult to remember the time before the discovery of the woman who would change everything about his life. Never mind that his team had consisted of just the three of them in the field for years already. Just like that, it would become almost impossible to remember what things had been like without her… to remember what his _life_ had been like without her.

Because Weller was always asking "What's next?" as opposed to needing a break to recharge before jumping off the deep end again, he didn't think anything of it when a helicopter met him outside the house where the standoff had taken place. The ambulances hadn't even transported all of the injured parties to the hospital yet, but for him the case was over. The officers on the scene, along with Reade and Zapata, could handle things just fine. The agent who had hopped out of the helicopter to retrieve him had only told him before he was whisked away was that there was a "critical situation in New York." He would come to think that that may have been something of an understatement.

What seemed like no time at all later, he was peering in confusion through the glass observation window of the exam room where the woman – Jane Doe, because no one, herself included, knew her real name – was being examined and observed by no less than seven people including doctors, agents, and several others. The woman with pale skin and short, black, messy hair was noticeably groggy and clearly still under the influence of the drug Dr. Borden had told them that her system had been flooded with. Weller didn't recall the name of the drug, only that the doctor had said that due to of the amount of the drug in her system, she was unable to remember _anything_ , including her own name. It seemed unfathomable.

 _But what does this have to do with me?_

Mayfair had escorted him from her office to the hall outside the exam room, and she stood beside him now and waited patiently for Weller's reaction. They peered through the window at the woman who was being poked and prodded, who needed support just to sit up straight, the drugs in her system not having fully worn off yet. "Do you recognize her?" Mayfair had asked, to which he'd assured her that he'd never seen her before in his life.

And yet… there was something, just a nagging feeling somewhere in his brain, that made him stare hard at her. It wasn't _recognition_. It was just… a feeling.

Just when he was getting frustrated with Mayfair for failing to tell him how in the world this case related to him as specifically as she seemed to think it did, the mystery woman was turned around to face away from them. Her hospital style gown was opened to reveal that the skin of her back was _covered_ in tattoos, which was striking in itself. More shocking, however, was the most prominent tattoo, the one that read, in large, clear lettering between her shoulder blades, "Kurt Weller." Just below those words were the letters "FBI." For a moment, he was completely dumbstruck. It was just… impossible.

"Why is your name tattooed on her back?"

Mayfair's words bounced around in his head, but he didn't really comprehend them. He was too busy asking himself nearly the exact same question.

 _Who in the world could have…_ _ **would**_ _have… done this? And why_ _ **him**_? _Had the woman had them done to herself, or had someone done it_ _ **to**_ _her? Either way… WHY?_

He struggled to find words with which to reply to Mayfair, but the truth was that he wasn't even really able to form _thoughts_ for a minute or two. He stood at the window and stared in disbelief, trying to force his mind out of the seeming paralysis that had gripped it. He had always prided himself on his ability to think on his feet, to find solutions where others saw only roadblocks... but this, this was something else altogether. It was impossible. And yet… it there it was before his eyes.

 _What could all this possibly mean?_

This wasn't just another case, not just a psychopath or a sociopath or a mentally unstable person holding others at gunpoint. No one had built a bomb or barricaded themselves inside a building. There were no hostages to be rescued, no terrorists to be tracked down. _Those_ were situations that he knew how to handle. But this… How could they asses the threat level? Hell, forget the threat level for just one second, _why the hell was his name tattooed on her back_?

It was the question that he couldn't stop asking himself, because it just didn't make sense. He didn't know her, had never seen her before in his life. What kind of way was this for someone to send the FBI a message, anyway? To be honest, the whole thing made him feel a little sick. Still, he couldn't bring himself to look away from the woman, even after her gown had been retied and she was turned back around. He had the strange feeling that if he looked at her long and hard enough, he would unlock the secret… but nothing came. It was as though a magnet held his gaze on her, and he _couldn't_ look away.

Mayfair and Weller had worked together for more than a few years, and she had gotten to know him well enough to know when he needed a minute. It didn't happen often – usually it happened when the case involved a child – but this was one of those moments. She could see that the wheels were turning in his head, or trying to, anyway, and she knew that more than likely he had already formulated a dozen questions and half of a plan of action on how to deal with this mysterious stranger. She glanced one more time at the woman they were calling Jane Doe, who was now being covered up and turned back around to complete her examination, before looking back at Weller to try to measure his reaction.

Finally coming partway back to reality, he could feel Mayfair's stare on the side of his face. All he could do was shake his head, but his eyes didn't leave the face of the woman in the next room.

Realizing that Mayfair was waiting for an answer to her question, he whispered, "I don't… I don't know," but never taking his eyes off of the woman. He simply could not understand what it was about her that made it so impossible for him to look away from her. It was just… a feeling, and not anything he could explain.

Mayfair nodded slowly, glancing between the woman and Weller several more times before settling her gaze on Weller. She observed the intensity with which he was watching her. "Reade and Zapata are on their way back in. I'm going to assemble the team so you can brief them, in…" she consulted her watch, stifling a yawn and shaking her head tiredly as she noticed the lateness of the hour, "two hours from now. Alright?"

He nodded absently, still staring at the woman on the far side of the exam room. Her head was down, and it occurred to him that despite the confusion she must be feeling, based on the fact that she apparently didn't even remember her own name, she sat perfectly still during the duration of the exam. In her position, others may have struggled, may have fought back. Her eyes were on the floor, almost closed, as if she had resigned herself to allow whatever the doctors and techs asked of her.

 _What in the world had happened to this woman?_ he wondered. _And what was the connection between the two of them?_ It sounded crazy to him, but he could swear that he _felt_ the connection, even though he had no idea what it could possibly be.

Even after Mayfair had turned and left, Weller stayed in that same spot by the window. Watching her. Finally, after the doctors and techs in the room in front of him had moved around, blocking his view of her, only then did he look down at his watch, which told him had been standing there for approximately thirty minutes. It didn't seem like it had been more than a fraction of that long, but then again, he knew that he was exhausted. He looked back down the long, empty hallway from which he had come, knowing that he needed to do several things before he briefed his team. The first one was to take a quick shower and change his clothes. The second one was to get some coffee. It was clear that he wasn't going to be sleeping any time soon.

Not daring to look back up at the Jane Doe in the next room for fear of being unable to look away again, he turned and retreated down the hallway, his footsteps echoing behind him. One word bounced around his head like a rubber ball, pounding faster and faster.

 _WHY?_


	3. Touch

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _Author's Note: Thanks for bearing with me while I set up the beginning of the story! Now we can finally get them in a room together – an interrogation room, to start with. I'm very much a fan of following the canon storyline, but I do admit that I'll err on the side of a little extra cuteness when I think I can get away with it. That being said, I hope you enjoy this!_

"I know that this is overwhelming, but please… try. Something may come back to you."

Weller knew that he was pushing her, that he was asking more of her than he probably had a right to. He was aware that she had already been through more than her fair share of trauma in this unusual situation, and the uncertainty and fear in her eyes reminded him of this every time he looked at her. But from where he stood, it was the only way. Besides, they were trying to help _her_ as well as solve the mystery of the tattoos for themselves, weren't they? Whether or not she actually knew what any of the tattoos were or what they meant, she herself held all the clues, both literally and figuratively. It all had to be in there somewhere… didn't it?

When she looked at him, she saw pleading in his eyes, and once again, she was terrified. She really didn't know what she was supposed to do. Everyone had been talking about "triggering memories," and she knew that that was what he was looking for; for her to try to trigger a memory somehow.

Their chairs were turned towards each other, and she leaned forward slightly and slid her left hand forward uncertainly across the surface of the metal table beside them, toward his right hand.

He saw what she was doing, and braced himself for the contact. He had asked her to try, after all, despite her obvious discomfort and frustration. Still, this was not the way investigations were supposed to go. He made a point of avoiding physical contact, anything beyond a handshake, with pretty much everyone, so he had to force himself to remain still as her hand moved towards his. As her fingers reached his knuckles, very hesitantly, the loose fist that his hand had unconsciously curled into on the table opened. It took a great deal of willpower for him to keep from yanking his hand away as her hand moved over his. When the base of her palm brushed his fingertips he looked down at their hands, wondering if this strange experiment was going to do any good, and willing himself not to withdraw from her.

Her hand rested gently over his, holding it there like a magnet, though not by force, and he noticed that he didn't mind it quite as much as he'd anticipated. He was uncomfortable, yes, but at the same time the warmth from even the light touch of her fingers was both somewhat soothing and wildly unnerving, almost like low voltage electricity, at the same time. She continued to hold her hand still over his, which made him feel both relief and anxiety. The anxiety, he understood. The relief, on the other hand, confused him and just increased the anxiety.

It was all _very_ complicated. This was not the way he had expected this to go.

Just as he was processing his complex feelings about her hand on top of his, she brought her right hand up to his cheek. A deafening proximity alert sounded in his head, and his left hand moved to intercept her hand before he knew what he was doing. However, he managed to stop his hand in mid-air, having to stop himself from blocking her a second time before successfully managing to get his hand down again. _Am I_ _ **really**_ _going to allow her to do this?_ he thought wildly to himself. While he was panicking inside, he remained calm on the outside. Or, at least he hoped that he looked calm.

Only the tips of her fingers made contact with his cheek at first, and he couldn't help but flinch involuntarily, even though her hand had moved slowly and he'd seen it coming. For Weller, this was the ultimate discomfort, possibly even worse than actual torture. The base of her palm came to rest slowly and gently against the scruff on his cheek, a feathery light touch. Once again, he felt a combination of comfort and discomfort that echoed the feeling he'd already experienced when her hand had come in contact with his, except this time it was stronger. He held himself still by sheer willpower alone, finally looking up to meet her eyes, which were boring into him with desperation to remember. Though she was basically a stranger, somehow it was the most connected he had felt to another person in a long, long time.

They stared at each other intensely through the gaps between her fingers as those fingers moved slowly along his cheek and up to his temple. He was hyper aware of every millimeter of movement that her fingers made. Finally, her pinky rested just below his ear, and he had the feeling, which he had expected, of wanting to forcibly remove her hand from his face. The only thing that surprised him was that he had managed to endure it there for this long already.

At the same time, however, he had the unexpected urge to clamp his hand gently over hers and hold it there. This feeling came out of nowhere, and it startled him. He felt his resolve to remain still begin to crumble, and after a few more seconds of her fingers moving across his face, he found that he just couldn't take it anymore. He moved his head away from her hand, catching her fingers gently with his free hand and lowering them back to waist level, where he let them fall back to her leg as soon as he could without appearing overly eager. He immediately felt better, but at the same time he missed the warmth of her touch on his face. _What is wrong with me?_ he wondered in confusion.

"Anything?" he whispered to her.

He was looking at her with such unabashed hope, and she hated the fact that she was going to have to disappoint him. They were all looking to her for answers, for explanations, for… something. _Anything._ Somewhere to start in unlocking this puzzle that was _her_. The mystery woman. Even more than what _they_ were hoping for, however, she herself was desperate to remember something. But try as she might, all she saw as she looked at Agent Weller was an exhausted man sitting before her, looking as desperate for answers as she felt.

She shook her head slightly, miserably, hating to admit that she'd failed. "No," she said so softly that even _she_ barely heard it. He looked away, down toward the floor, in disappointment. Maybe her memories really were gone, in which case all of this was going to be infinitely more difficult. He let out a sigh, and realized too late that he wasn't hiding his disappointment very well. None of this was her fault, and he didn't want her to think for a second that he thought so. She had been through enough. He got the feeling that no matter what he said, she was going to blame herself, and it pained him to think that he had any part in adding to a burden that must already feel insurmountable.

She spoke before he had a chance, however. "So what happens now?"

"We will release a clean photograph of you to the media. Someone must know who you are."

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean… what happens _right now_? I don't have anywhere to go."

He'd misunderstood the question. She wasn't asking him about the next step in the investigation. She was asking him about what was going to happen to her _now_ , as in when the two of them were finished talking.

She couldn't stand it anymore, the not knowing. She simply had to know what was going to happen next. What was going to happen when he _gave up_ on her remembering, as he surely would. When he gave up on _her_ as well, which she expected him to do. She was waiting with dread for it to happen.

He realized that she had a point. As she pointed out, she had nowhere to go. _Had anyone even considered what they were going to do with her?_ She wasn't a prisoner, so they weren't going to keep her in a cell. The FBI had safe houses, of course, but had any arrangements been made? She'd need a security detail, to be sure. For her safety, and… well, they couldn't just let her walk away from them and vanish.

Looking at her sitting at the cold, metal table, though, he realized how ridiculous that thought was – that she would try to walk away from the FBI and their help. If anything, the look in her eyes seemed to be _begging_ him for help, for something to hold onto. Looking into her eyes, he was overwhelmed by how lost she looked, and it stirred something in him that he couldn't quite identify. _Surely_ they'd be able to help her. They were the FBI, for God's sake!

Of course, it wasn't uncommon for him to want to help people, and he certainly got lots of opportunities to do just that in his line of work. It was part of what made him so good at his job. Between his problem solving skills, ability to think of his feet and remain logical in a crisis situation, his intense work ethic and his passion for making things right in the world, you'd be hard pressed to find a more dedicated FBI agent. That was just the kind of person that he was. For as long as he could remember, he'd felt like just maybe, if only he helped enough people, then perhaps someday it would fill the void he'd felt for so many years because of the one person he _hadn't_ been able to help. The one person that he had let down so completely.

He realized then, as he was about to get up from his chair, that her hand was still sitting on top of his. Trying not to look as panicked as he suddenly felt, he looked down at their hands. She noticed, of course, because she was watching him just as intensely as he was watching her. It seemed that the force inside him that drew him to watch her was just as strong in her. She pulled her hand back quickly, looking down and mumbling, "Sorry," but not bothering to try to think of anything else to say. She hadn't even realized that she hadn't removed her hand from his. The look on his face had told her all that she needed to know about how he felt about that.

Still, he'd only just noticed her hand there. Surely if he'd minded that much, he would have noticed much sooner, he thought. The confusion this thought caused him only made him that much more anxious. Never mind the fact that once she pulled her hand away, he actually felt the loss of its warmth.

He stood up, maybe just a little too fast because of the thoughts now coursing through him mercilessly. Despite all his conflicting feelings, however, he knew that he would do whatever it took to help her. "Let me just go and see what arrangements have been made, okay?" he asked, turning to go down to Mayfair's office and ask her what was going on. Surely _someone_ had thought this through… They wouldn't have expected Jane – they were calling her Jane Doe for lack of anything else to call her – to just stay in the building all night, after she'd been there being questioned for more than a full day already…

He started toward the door without waiting for confirmation from her, but he had only taken a few steps in that direction before he heard a single panicked word escape from her lips.

" _Wait_." The urgency in her voice was unmistakable. He looked back at her and again, the look in her eyes – one that he could now only identify as pleading – threatened to swallow him with the force of her emotion. She looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she let her eyes say it for her. Again, he had the feeling of not being able to look away from her.

She didn't know what else to say. Despite the fact that she knew she was being irrational, the idea of being left in that room alone again was terrifying. Everyone she'd come in contact with so far – in the entire short span of her life that she could actually remember – had looked at and treated her like either a suspect or a freak. Either they were afraid of her, disgusted by her, or suspicious of her – possibly all three, or maybe something even worse. Every single person she could remember had acted that way. Everyone except Agent Weller. She had seen genuine compassion in his eyes, and _only_ his, and she couldn't stand the idea that he might not come back.

Seeing her obvious distress with the idea of being left alone again, he instantly put aside his own feelings of discomfort from only seconds before and tried to give her a reassuring smile. Her fear was understandable, given what she'd been through and the fact that she had no memory whatsoever. He reminded himself that he was almost the only person in the world that she knew, and he could only imagine that that had to be a terrible feeling. It was likely that he was the first person so far who'd actually sat and talked _to_ her, not just interrogated, escorted or talked _about_ her.

His voice softened involuntarily as he said, "I'll be right back." He wished there was something more tangible he could do than just offer her those words, some strong sort of reassurance that he could give her that he was not going to leave her to drown in her emotions alone, but his words would just have to do for a few minutes. Her face remained unchanged though, still reflecting panic.

Weller had very tight control of his emotions in nearly all circumstances, but somehow, the look on her face at that moment caused those very defenses to falter. In an attempt to do something, _anything_ , to stop the woman in front of him from looking so terrified, he stepped back toward the table. Even just that change in proximity made her seem to relax just a fraction. She still looked afraid, of course, but maybe not quite as much as she had when she thought he was leaving the room.

Without warning, he had the sudden urge to put his hand on her shoulder as reassurance, something that he _never_ did. Sympathize with subjects? Yes. Empathize with them even? When possible, of course. Spend the extra time when he felt like he could help a subject by talking to them, or just letting them talk to _him_? He was no psychologist, but he'd sat with his fair share of subjects that just needed to get things out when he thought that he was the most appropriate person to listen to them. But use physical contact as a form of reassurance? His sister, Sarah, teased him quite frequently, accusing him of being too "hands-off," of going out of his way to avoid contact with people. He couldn't even argue with her, because he knew that it was the truth, just part of the carefully constructed walls he'd built around himself that allowed him to do this job that required so much from him.

So w _here did the urge to touch her shoulder come from, then?_ he wondered in surprise. Shouldn't he still be overloaded on touch after he had let her put _both_ of her hands on him? _Well, apparently not._

It was just one more thing to add to the list of things he didn't understand about how he felt around her.

Instead, he fought the temptation and just stood in front of her, looking at her with what he hoped was his most sincere expression, again trying to work his face into at least a half smile. She kept looking up at him with the same sad, pleading eyes, the ones that he had so much trouble looking away from. Suddenly slightly uncomfortable, he took half a step back without realizing it, but continued to watch her face. Finally finding his voice again – when had he _lost_ it, anyway? – he told her earnestly, in a voice that came out more quietly than he had expected, "Ma'am, I won't be long. You're safe here, and I _promise_ , I'll be right back. I just need to check with my boss. Her office isn't far."

She nodded, closing her eyes for a second with what he could only assume was the panic that he still saw there. He sympathized with her. It must be terrifying to be in her position. But there wasn't anything he could do to get her memories back, at least not at that moment. He _could_ , however,take responsibility for her well-being and keep her safe. He had the feeling that somehow, keeping her safe was his duty, whether the FBI told him it was or not. After all, there was some sort of reason that his name was tattooed on her back. That part could not possibly be random, could it?

She opened her eyes again and took a deep breath. "Okay?" he asked her. She just nodded again, though she pursed her lips and looked like she was anything _but_ okay. Her eyes were still pleading with him, and he had to work hard to look away from them so that he could go find Mayfair and get an answer to their question. "I'll be right back," he said again, and then turned toward the door, forcing himself to break the connection that he felt when he looked at her and to stop himself from looking back.

What _was_ it about her, anyway?

A few minutes later and not far away, in Mayfair's office, it became clear to Weller that somehow, no one had thought ahead to accommodations for Jane. Yes, her discovery had been a shock to everyone, and her tattoos had everyone who was cleared to know about them spinning in circles over where to start, but he had a difficult time believing that not a single person had stopped to think about where she was going to _sleep_. He wasn't sure why, but it had him very agitated. _Am I the only one who realizes that she's an actual human being, and not just a collection of tattoos?_ he wondered in frustration.

After checking into it, Mayfair informed him that nothing had been put in place yet, but made a call to the people who _should_ have been on top of that. She was promised that one of the safe houses would be prepped for Jane as soon as possible, and a security detail activated. It wasn't quite what Weller had been hoping to hear, because it meant that Jane was stuck waiting there until those details were figured out. He was already frustrated on her behalf.

Mayfair promised Kurt that she'd let him know when everything was ready, estimating that it would be an hour or so. She told him to go home and she'd have one of the other agents sit with Jane until everything was figured out. After the few days that Kurt and his team had had, she was quite surprised when he said that no, that he would stay with Jane until everything was settled. "What's another hour or so?" he had asked off-handedly, as if it was no big deal.

Mayfair wondered if there wasn't more to his reaction, however. She had known him for years, and he was acting just a little bit unlike himself. Then again, his name _had_ been tattooed on the woman's back, which could be enough to throw anyone for a loop. But since he was one of the best agents she'd ever known, she trusted his judgement in most situations, and just assumed that he was being his usual thorough self.

The conversation with Mayfair had been far longer than the expected few minutes, and he was very conscious of the fact that he'd promised Jane that he'd be back quickly. About halfway back to the interrogation room he noticed that the people he passed were looking at him curiously, and he realized that he was walking so fast through the halls that it would almost be considered running.

 _What's the rush, anyway?_ he asked himself. He didn't have an answer, only a strong desire to get back and check on Jane.


	4. So Many Wishes

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

With Weller gone, Jane was alone with her thoughts. The volume in her head increased steadily until it was almost deafening. All she could think was that she didn't know how to make it stop, that it was _never_ going to end. She turned sideways in her chair so that she was facing the metal table, folded her arms on the cool surface and put her head down so that her forehead rested on her arms. _Breathe_ , she told herself, but it didn't help much. Her panic level was rising quickly. _What the hell is happening to me?_ she thought frantically. _How does someone forget_ _ **their entire life**_? It didn't seem possible. And yet… here she was. Drowning in the nothing that was now her life.

The noise in her head continued until she thought her head was going to explode. She took another deep breath and sat up slowly – since laying her head down hadn't helped - and stared straight ahead. Her eyes didn't focus on anything at first. _Breathe_ , she told herself again. It was the only thing she could think of to tell herself to do just then.

Looking down at her hands, which sat on the table in front of her, she tried to hold off the feelings of nausea and panic that looking at the tattoos – _her_ tattoos – gave her. She spread out her fingers first on one hand, then on the other, and carefully examined the marks that littered the backs of them. An icy chill ran up her spine, but she forced herself to continue looking at them, something she had avoided doing – with only limited success – until now.

She followed the path they took, her eyes slowly moving to the tattoos on her arms, up and down again and again on each arm. Trying her hardest to forget that these things were permanent marks in her skin, she attempted to look past how they made her feel and to see simply what they looked like. They had to mean _something_ after all. At least _one_ of these marks on her had to mean _something._ Though it was difficult enough to process the fact that she had been tattooed – forcibly, she could only assume – all over her body, it was easier to accept this fact than to think that someone had done all this to her for absolutely no reason. No, the tattoos _had_ to mean something.

When Weller pushed the door to the interrogation room open, Jane was staring at the honeycomb pattern on the back of her right hand with an intense look of concentration mixed with disgust. She looked up immediately, startled by the noise in the otherwise silent room. Her face reflected fear at first, but when she recognized Weller, the fear instantly turned to relief. "Sorry, didn't think it would take quite that long," he said apologetically, closing the door behind him.

She smiled weakly, nodding her head slightly, but said nothing. Really, she was just glad that he was back, glad for the distraction, and glad that it was him and not someone else. "They're going to prep a safe house for you," he continued, then added "apparently in all the excitement, I was the first person to think about the logistics, so…" He tilted his head a fraction of an inch, raised his eyebrows and twisted his mouth slightly to one side, trying to convey something about the people who should have thought of making arrangements for her, but without actually saying it. "They'll let us know when it's ready. Hopefully it won't be _too_ long," he concluded. He knew that an hour was only a very rough estimate, since government bureaucracy usually meant that things took as long as they took. He hoped that this time, for her sake, it would actually take the time they said it would.

Walking over to the metal table where she was still seated, he took his seat facing her again. Now that they were on the same level again, he stared straight into her eyes, immediately feeling hooked into the same energy, the same pull as he had before. "You'll have security outside the safe house," he started to explain, and watched her immediately tense up again. "Just a precaution," he assured her quickly. "All things considered, it only makes sense that you're going to be under FBI protection. After all, we don't know anything about what happened to you. They'll just be there to keep you safe, in case you need anything. They won't be inside the house with you, unless you need them, of course."

She nodded weakly, looking more and more exhausted. He wasn't sure how to help her other than taking care of concrete things like the logistics of her accommodations, and there was nothing else to do on that front but wait. At that moment, he felt pretty useless. "Do you want some coffee or something while we wait?" he asked, thinking that they could be there a while. Maybe _he_ should have some coffee.

Once again she looked stricken, and he realized too late that he'd said something wrong. When she whispered, "I don't know," he understood his mistake. Obviously it was just one more thing that she didn't know about herself. Tears threatened to fall from the corners of her eyes, and he cursed himself for making her feel worse. That was the last thing he wanted. Again, he had the urge reach out to her, to touch the hand that was resting on the table in front of her, to reassure her. The same hand that had rested so comfortably on top of his not long ago. He fought the urge, however. It just wasn't the way things worked in an investigation. He needed to get ahold of himself, and he knew it.

"Sorry, sorry…" he replied quickly, feeling flustered by his own rogue thoughts, at not having realized the effect his words would have on her, and at not knowing what else to say to fix his mistake. "You know what? You probably need water more than coffee, anyway," he told her without meeting her eyes. _Seriously Weller? What the hell's wrong with you?_ He was angry with himself now.

She nodded numbly as he stood up and walked to a counter at the far end of the room, where there was a pitcher of water and a few glasses. He could feel her eyes on him the whole time, even with his back turned. It was a strange feeling, but not a creepy or uncomfortable one, like he got when he interrogated any one of a million different suspects, all of whom had turned out to be guilty, who wouldn't take their eyes off of him.

But this felt more like… what was it? It was that connection again, and even when he wasn't actually looking at her, he could still feel it. For what felt like the thousandth time in twenty-four hours, he was slightly unnerved by this, being a man who needed his personal space. At the same time, he had to grudgingly admit, it wasn't an _unpleasant_ feeling, exactly, just an unfamiliar one. He prided himself on keeping others at arm's length, but somehow this woman was able to cut right through every one of his defenses just by looking at him. That fact by itself was disturbing, especially for someone like him, who was used to being in control.

He poured a glass of water for her and walked back to the table, setting it down in front of her. "Thanks," she whispered, picking it up and taking a sip. He smiled at her sympathetically, sitting back down in the chair in front of her. Although he could see that she herself was still panicking, there was something soothing about sitting here with her. It didn't make sense to him at all, but that was the only way he could describe it. Besides, at least she looked calmer than she had when he'd left the room. He'd have to take small victories to start with in this case, he could already tell. So maybe he _was_ of some use to her right now after all, despite his initial feeling that there was nothing he could do to help her.

She sipped her water and glanced at him, her eyes remaining on him whenever he wasn't looking directly at her. She could tell that she was making him uneasy, and it made her feel guilty. _Just add feeling guilty to the list of other things I have to freak out about,_ she told herself dryly. This whole thing was like a nightmare that seemed like it would never end. Every one of her nerves was frayed and her senses were on high alert. She was so exhausted, so far past what she could take mentally, and she felt like she was about to cry any second. It was just too much.

But in the midst of this absolute turmoil, there was something about Agent Weller, something soothing about the way that he looked at her, even though he was frowning most of the time. Somehow, in his eyes she saw… good. She had no idea where she got that idea from. After all, she didn't even know her own name, so what the hell did she know? Being around him didn't fix the distress that she found herself in, but it allowed her to breathe. That would have to do for now.

She sighed heavily and looked down, again catching sight of the tattoos covering her exposed arms and shuddering involuntarily. She wondered not for the first time how she had come to deserve this nightmare.

As he watched her, he noticed her glancing uneasily down at her arms, once again studying her tattoos. The expression on her face reminded him of someone studying a dangerous animal who was getting too close for comfort too quickly, and he tried to imagine how violated she must feel to have found those tattoos all over her entire body. He tried to think of something to talk about that would distract her from the complicated marks and symbols, determined to think more carefully about the words he chose this time. Forming a question that he could safely ask without making her feel any worse, however, was harder than it seemed like it should have been. In fact, as exhausted as he was at the moment, it seemed close to impossible.

Before he had a chance to speak, however, he heard her voice. She wasn't looking at him,but the words were directed at him. "If they weren't tattooed on me, they would be beautiful… but like this, they're… they're _terrifying_." She paused but didn't look up, and he didn't have time to think of anything to say before she continued speaking. "I keep hoping one of them will help me remember something," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "But it's like I'm looking at someone else, some _thing_ else, not even tattoos… just abstract art."

She paused again, still frozen, staring at her arms. He noticed that suddenly her eyes looked sad. "But why _on_ _my skin_?" There was nothing he could say to make this better, and for some reason that he couldn't explain, he hated himself for it. He felt a slight ache in his chest, and once again he felt an unexpected swell of emotion. He had no allusions about life being fair, but this seemed extra unfair to him.

Sighing heavily, she took another sip of water, swallowing it slowly. Setting the glass down slightly away from her, she propped her elbows on the table and then rested her head in her hands, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes wearily. In a voice that was barely a whisper she said, "I just want to wake up and have it all have been a nightmare." She paused, and then let out a sound that was part rueful laughter and part choked sob. "But then again," she said, looking up at the ceiling, not wanting to meet his gaze, "what do I have to wake up to? _Nothing,_ apparently."

Again, Weller was at a loss. What could he possibly say?

Then suddenly he had an idea. Even if they did have to wait for a safe house, there was no reason why they couldn't wait somewhere else. "Come on," he told her, standing up slowly and stretching his exhausted muscles. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go without sleep, and he imagined that she had to be at least as tired as he was, if not more, but he wasn't going home until she was settled in her safe house. As he watched her slowly lift her head from her hands and look up at him, he saw that her eyes plainly displayed the tempest of emotions that was raging inside of her. Never had he met anyone whose eyes said so much.

After a few seconds he noticed that she was looking at him questioningly, and he realized, to his embarrassment, that he'd momentarily just been staring into her eyes and lost his focus – and even worse, he knew that it wasn't the first time... just the first time he'd been caught. "We're going to wait for the safe house to be ready somewhere else," he told her simply, pretending that nothing had happened.

She stood up slowly, holding on to the edge of the table and watching him carefully. "Where are we going?" she asked curiously.

"You'll see," he told her, suppressing a hint of a smile despite his serious demeanor. She didn't know it yet, but though he had been mostly serious with her, she had already seen more smiles from him than most people saw in a week, if not longer. His coworkers would mainly describe him as "intense" and "focused" long before they would call him "fun" or "happy," and he knew it. Still, that was okay with him. He was who he was.

He walked to the door of the stark white room and opened it, holding it for her as she followed him slowly. She hesitated for just a second in front of him, looking at him questioningly, but he just nodded and she kept walking through the doorway. Once in the hallway, he walked beside her, not so close that their hands brushed each other, but close enough that they _could_ have touched if one of them had tried.

As far as she was concerned, this was a thousand times better than the last time she'd been escorted down this hall, when two imposing men whose names she didn't know, and who had barely spoken a word to her, if that much, had grasped her by the biceps and pushed her along in front of them. Yes, walking with Weller was nicer. She actually felt like a human being around him, which was something that she couldn't say about anyone else she had encountered so far since she'd emerged from the bag in Times Square. He may still have been suspicious of her, but at least he treated her with dignity, and not just like a body covered in mysterious tattoos.

They wove through a maze of hallways and past at least one security checkpoint before eventually stepping into an elevator, where Weller pressed one of many buttons. It glowed in the dim light and Jane stared at it, just wanting to have something to look at while they stood in silence. She was getting a little anxious about this outing, and while he didn't make her uncomfortable exactly, she could feel him watching her, and had to fight the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. Suddenly she wondered if he got the same sensation when she was watching _him_ when he wasn't looking. _Don't be ridiculous,_ she told herself.

Finally, the elevator gave a soft _ding_ and the doors opened into a parking garage. He led her to a nearby dark colored SUV and pushed the button on his keyfab that caused the lights to flash as the doors unlocked, and opened the passenger side door for her. She watched all this with interest. While it had most likely been done for her more than once in her life, for Jane everything was happening to her for the first time. She smiled, glancing up at him quickly before looking back down as she climbed into the car and murmuring "thanks."

Weller closed the door and walked around the front of the car, keeping his eyes on Jane as he went, then climbed into his seat and buckled his seat belt. Before he started the car he grabbed his phone from his pocket, swiped at the screen and then pressed a series of buttons rapidly, typing out something that she couldn't decipher from her angle.

When he was finished he set the screen to dark again, put the phone down in the console and looked up at her. "Just letting my boss know that you're with me, so she doesn't think you were abducted or anything," he told her. Realizing what he'd just said, and knowing that they didn't yet _know_ what had happened to her but that it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that she _had_ been abducted at some point, he immediately felt his face heat up. _Why am I such an idiot?_ He hoped that he didn't look as embarrassed as he felt, and more importantly, he hoped that she wasn't going to crumble again.

But the walk beside Weller outside of the interrogation room seemed to have revived her spirits, and this time she surprised him when she looked at him with a smirk and said off-handedly, "What, you mean… not _this time_ , anyway, right?" Said with a different tone, that sentence could have come off one of three or four different ways, but he guessed from the look on her face and the tone of her voice that not only was she not upset, she was actually somewhat amused. However, he was still afraid to be wrong, and he looked at her uncertainly. The look on his face just made her smile wider. She looked like she was going to say something, but then seemed to change her mind.

He exhaled loudly, rubbing a hard over his face in frustration and exhaustion. "Sorry, that was… I… I'm an idiot. I don't even know what I'm saying," he mumbled, still not completely sure he was off the hook.

"Well, I don't know a lot of people or anything," she mused, "so I don't have much to compare you with. Maybe you _are_ an idiot…" she paused, and he looked at her in surprise. "But…" she continued quickly when she saw that he was slightly taken aback, "you're the nicest idiot I know." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, of course, she regretted them. _Did I really just say that?_ she asked herself in horror. _Even *I* know that that was ridiculous. But… he's trying so hard to help. It really is cute._

For some reason, sitting in the car with him, she felt the calmest that she could remember feeling. Not that that was saying much, of course, since she only had – how many hours now? – maybe twenty-four hours' worth of memories, at the absolute most. It didn't really make sense, but just being near Agent Weller seemed to have a way of bringing her back from the verge of panic. She realized that just then, she felt… _safe_.

Not that she wasn't still scared and confused, but things just seemed a little better around him. She wished she could figure out why. But then again, she wished for a lot of things at the moment. She wished for her memories back. She wished she knew who had done all this to her, and why. She wished she could do _something_ to help the FBI. It went on and on, really. So many wishes, and none of them were going to come true anytime soon – if ever. So when she stopped to think about it, not knowing why Weller had the effect on her that he did was one thing that she was okay with not understanding for the time being. The important thing was that he was there.


	5. Remaining Professional

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

Ever since she'd embarrassed herself a few minutes before, she'd been quiet, looking somewhat mortified when he glanced over at her. Her comment had caught him off guard when he'd been trying to apologize for his own "so Mayfair doesn't think you were abducted" comment, afraid that he'd touched a nerve with her again, and all of a sudden she turned it around and said something sort of sweet to him. He could tell she regretted it as soon as she'd said it, because she'd turned beet red, and he knew that it was probably just the product of the lack of a filter that comes from being overly exhausted, the same way he was. In his mind, they had now both embarrassed themselves by saying something they didn't necessarily mean to, so they were even. Luckily, neither of them had been offended.

He definitely hadn't minded her comment. If anything, he'd liked it. It had been a little cheesy, yes, but it had been clever, and had showed that despite everything she'd been through, her sense of humor was intact. Yes, she could call him _the nicest idiot she knew_ whenever she wanted to. It had been endearing, and he was glad that she hadn't stopped to filter her thoughts… The only problem was that she was now at the other extreme and sitting there, embarrassed, with her mouth clamped shut.

"Alright, ready to go out and see the world?" he asked, trying to draw her back out of her shell as they exited the FBI parking garage's security gate. She was still avoiding his eyes, just barely glancing at him out of the corners of hers for a second at a time.

She couldn't help but notice that he looked a little bit different outside of the confines of the FBI office. Just a little bit more relaxed, maybe? One thing was for sure, he looked like he was really pleased with himself and wherever he was taking her. Though she was still hesitant to look at him, a hint of a smile crept across her face in spite of herself. _What is he up to?_ she wondered once again. Whatever it was, he was doing it for her benefit, and that counted for a lot.

When she thought about it rationally, she felt like she _should_ be nervous to be in a car, being driven who-knows-where with a man she'd only just met, FBI agent or not. Wasn't that the kind of thing that should scream "bad idea?" So why _didn't_ it feel like a bad idea? Then again, it's not as though there was anyone she knew _better_ than Agent Weller. And what was her other choice? So here she was in the car with him. There was no way to quite explain it, but she just got the feeling that she could trust him. Could she be wrong? Of course! But she had no other option, so she chose to believe that he really was the guy he seemed to be.

"You're really not going to tell me where we're going?" she asked at last, figuring that it was worth a try. Her curiosity made her slowly forget her embarrassment.

"Nope," he replied, glancing at her again. But he wanted to tell her, so he compromised with himself. "Oh, alright, I'll give you a clue," he said quickly. He happened to glance over at her again as she looked up in surprise.

"It won't tell you where we're going, since you don't know much about me, but… we're going to one of my favorite places in the city. There's a great view, especially when the weather's nice. But that's all I'm saying," he finished, a fraction of a playful smile threatening to betray his seriousness.

"Hmmm," Jane said thoughtfully, her face relaxing a little, but then tensing up again almost immediately. _A great view?_ "Please tell me it's not at the top of one of those tall buildings…" She peered toward the tops of the skyscrapers that littered the city streets not far away.

"Why…? Do you remember being afraid of heights?" he asked with interest, thinking that even the memory of a fear of something would be considered progress.

"No, it's just that…" she let out a sigh, and kept talking, "I'd really rather not find out tonight. It's been a long day already. I could do without that particular piece of information, at least until after I've had some sleep." Her eyes darted around nervously, finally landing on Weller. He glanced up at her quickly, noting her nervous anticipation, then had to force himself to look back at the road.

"No, no tall buildings, I promise," he told her with a chuckle, failing to suppress his smile any longer. She hadn't meant it as a joke, of course, but there was something about the way she'd said it. Up until they'd gotten in the car, she'd mostly seemed scared and lost, which was understandable, but in this new setting her personality was shining through little by little – she probably didn't even realize it, not yet knowing herself. He could only call it endearing.

She was visibly relieved by his assurance, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Okay, good," she murmured as she leaned her head against the window, enjoying the unexpected cool feeling of the glass on her forehead. She closed her eyes in spite of her curiosity about where they were going. Saying that it had been a long day was an understatement. The entirety of her memories had happened in that one day. Okay, the collection was still small, but no one could deny that she had been through a lot in the past 24 hours or so.

Glancing at her again as they sat at a traffic light, he noticed then that her eyes had fallen closed almost as soon as she'd leaned her head against the window, and he wondered if she had fallen asleep. He couldn't blame her if she had. They didn't have too far left to drive, but he quickly discovered, as the light turned green and he began driving again, that the problem with being the driver was that he had to watch the road and consequently, he couldn't watch _her_. He hadn't realized just how carefully he'd been watching her in the interrogation room until they were in the car and he _couldn't_ watch her anymore. Still, he glanced at her more than was probably safe until they finally arrived at his surprise destination.

She hadn't stirred since the last time she'd spoken, a few minutes before. He was pretty sure that she really had fallen asleep. He wasn't about to try to rouse her, knowing how exhausted she must be. She'd probably been out as soon as she'd closed her eyes, judging from how tired she'd been back in the interrogation room. They'd found her… it must have been about twenty-four hours ago by now, hadn't it? He's lost track long ago.

Now that they were safely parked by the curb, just a short walk from one of Weller's favorite waterside overlooks in the city, he could watch her all he wanted to – especially since she was asleep. _Wait,_ he thought quickly, _that sounds kind of creepy_. But he wasn't watching her in a creepy way, of course. It was more… what was it? For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was about her, what made it so impossible for him _not_ to just watch her. He sat looking at her and rolling the question over and over in his mind.

Her tattoos had been a bit shocking at first, but that wasn't it. To some people the dark ink of the tattoos would probably always define her, as unfortunate as that was, but to him they had already faded into the background, completely secondary, and as much a part of her as her black hair or her green eyes. He realized that whatever the pull of watching her was, it was different somehow, now that she was asleep. The feeling was less intense, but perhaps more… "reverent" was the only word that came to mind, though that seemed a bit extreme to use about a feeling for someone he'd met only yesterday.

 _Weller, you're losing it_ , he told himself.

That's when it hit him. As much as he was drawn to watch her when she was asleep, the biggest difference was that he couldn't see her eyes. It was her eyes that captivated him most _._ After spending a lot of time watching people, studying them, both as part of his job and because he just liked to observe the world around him, he'd come to believe that you could tell a lot about someone from looking in their eyes. Because of his job, he had looked into the eyes of some very bad people, and what he had seen there had been downright terrifying sometimes. He'd become, _he_ thought, pretty damn good at reading people just by looking in their eyes.

Yes, there was something about her eyes. Looking into them, he felt like he knew her… even though that was, of course, impossible.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes afterwards (at least he hoped that it wasn't) when he found that he was almost nodding off right along with her. Thankfully, that was when his phone suddenly vibrated in the center console, where he'd dropped it earlier. The slight noise was all it took to rouse him back to consciousness. He was glad that it had too, because as exhausted as he was, he absolutely could _not_ be falling asleep on the job. If he lost track of the most critical part of their new case… well he'd just summarize by saying he wouldn't want to have to give Mayfair that kind of news, and leave it at that.

As much as he had to protect her because it was his job, of course, as far as he was concerned, that wasn't even the most important reason he couldn't afford to let anything happen to her. He couldn't let anything happen to her for the same reason he couldn't stop watching her. There was something about her that he didn't understand yet, but that made her very important to him. Besides, he knew from a lifetime of experience that if she disappeared, he would never forgive himself. The very thought of it sent chills down his spine. _Not again._

He picked up his phone gently so he didn't bump it into anything around it. Letting her sleep in the car by a curb hadn't exactly been the plan, but he'd accomplished his overall goal of getting her a change of scenery, and obviously it had calmed her down, at least enough to get some rest. She was asleep, which she had definitely needed, so for the moment, things were working out alright. He clicked his phone to illuminate the screen, and was greeted by a text from Mayfair. It read, "30 minutes," and the codename of one of their commonly used safe houses. It wasn't far away. He set the phone back down once again, as quietly as he could.

She'd heard a faint buzzing noise, and wondered what it was, where she could be. Before opening her eyes she'd tried to take stock of her surroundings, the same way she had performed the internal status check with the various parts of her body when she'd woken up the previous time in the duffle bag in Times Square. She could feel herself sitting up in a large chair, not completely comfortable but not totally uncomfortable. Her forehead felt cool in one particular spot, and she determined that it was leaning against something hard and flat. Glass? Yes, she thought so.

In seconds all of the rest of it rushed back to her, and she gasped softly as her eyes shot open. Panicked, she straightened up quickly and looked over at the man in the driver's seat beside her. She was terrified for a half second before realizing that she knew him. His name was Weller, she remembered. Just the fact that she remembered him, remembered feeling safe with him, stopped her from losing herself to that fraction of a second of fear. Instead, as soon as she saw him, she took a deep breath and felt the momentary alarm fade. _I remember him_ , she thought, and she inventoried all of the things she'd learned about him in the previous twenty-hour hours – which wasn't much, really. No, the biggest thing she'd learned about him so far was that his presence helped calm her down, that when he looked in her eyes, somehow the rest of it didn't seem quite so bad.

He heard the faintest noise from beside him, and when he looked up he saw that Jane was watching him intently. There were those eyes again. She was watching _him_ this time, as he turned to look at her. He managed to keep a straight face even though his first instinct was to smile at her. _You have to remain professional_ , _Weller_ , he reminded himself. Not that "professional" meant that he couldn't smile, but… _Never mind_ , he told himself. _Professional._

The look on her face for the first split second hadn't escaped him. "Are you okay?" he asked with concern. He imagined that in her place, this could have been a startling place to wake up. Then again, anywhere she woke up would probably be startling for the foreseeable future, if she had to remind herself of her surroundings every time.

"Yeah," she replied slowly, "it just took me a second to… remember what was going on." Her eyes flicked around nervously for a few seconds, as if she was avoiding eye contact with him. _Until I remembered that I'm safe with you_ , she thought. When her eyes finally landed on him, she smiled slightly, as if she was embarrassed. Despite his promise to himself to be professional (which somehow meant "serious" in his head), he felt himself smiling back at her, just a little.

 _Traitor,_ he told his face silently. _We were supposed to stay professional._ He fought to keep from breaking out into a grin, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"So, did you have a good nap?" he asked lightly. _Finally, a safe question to ask. I hope…_

She shrugged her shoulders and made a face that said _I guess so, yeah._ "Best one I ever had, as far as I know," she joked, and the smile she gave him then, while a little sad, showed that she was trying. It also made him give up completely on the idea of keeping a straight face, because when she smiled, he smiled right along with her, shaking his head at her joke. "It's also the _only_ one I've had as far as I remember, so there's not much of a contest," she admitted with a yawn.

"Well, I see that you remember how to make _corny jokes,"_ he shot back, somehow managing to turn down the wattage on his smile and deliver his own observation in a more deadpan style. She just looked at him proudly.

"I don't know _what_ you mean," she said teasingly. "As far as I know, _that_ was my first corny joke, ever." It was almost like a game now. He shook his head again and chuckled. Why was he getting such a kick out of this? Out of seeing her experience so many things "for the first time?" Of course it wasn't _actually_ the first time she'd done any of those things, but just the first time that she could remember. So what was it? After all, he barely knew her. _Maybe it's the way it affects her_ , he thought. _She's just so damn… what?_

He decided quickly that it didn't matter why he was so amused. What he needed was to reign himself in a little. After all, he was definitely losing the battle to be professional. The important thing was that he was there, she was safe and she looked more relaxed than he had seen her in the previous twenty four hours. They just had to kill another thirty minutes or so, and then her safe house should be ready. It was late and he'd been running on empty for days now, and yet… the thought of dropping her off at the safe house made him uneasy. Shouldn't he have been happy, _relieved_ even, about the prospect of going home for some sleep?

But it wasn't time for that yet, he reminded himself. "So, are you ready?" he asked her. She'd been watching him carefully, and seemed perfectly content just sitting there in the car.

"Is this it?" she asked, suddenly interested, looking out the window into the dark with curiosity and stifling a yawn.

"It is," he replied with a nod. "Come on!" He hopped out of the car and into the empty street before walking around to the passenger side. Jane was climbing out slowly, stretching her tired limbs, and by the time he had gone around the front of the car, he still had time to pull the door open a little farther for her, holding it as she stepped the rest of the way out. When she was clear of the door, he shut it behind her. They started walking away from the street, toward what would have been a lovely view during the day, but right now was a dark expanse of shoreline with only streetlights and a nearly full moon to reflect off the dark water.

They walked around a small park maintenance building and followed the wide concrete path to the water's edge, where they stood about a foot apart and both leaned against the metal railing, looking out into the darkness. There was just enough breeze to ruffle a strand of Jane's short hair free, and she tucked it back behind her ear again. The lights of the buildings that sat further along the shoreline glittering in the distance, and they were both temporarily lost in their own thoughts. "It's beautiful here," Jane said finally, slightly hypnotized by the twinkling lights.

"You should see it when it's light out," he told her, nodding in agreement. "But this… this is pretty amazing too." Pausing in thought, he added, "It's been a long time since I was here at night." He looked off into the distance, pondering the circumstances of the last time he _had_ been there at night, focusing on the spot across the water where The Statue of Liberty stood on her tiny island. Having thought it through earlier, he had decided that he would not mention that it was out there, in case it was just one more thing that she didn't remember. "Sunrise especially. Right over the water."

She noticed that since they'd arrived at the park, Weller had seemed to relax even more. She could understand why – this place was beautiful. She realized that _she_ felt a little better as well. Standing by the water for a few minutes wouldn't solve any of the problems she was facing, of course, but having the feeling of panic disappear for a few minutes… well, it was a nice change. Without realizing it, she sighed heavily, wondering how in the world she had ended up here. It was different from the way most people, at one of more points in their lives, wondered the same thing. She was literally wondering how she had ended up in this situation, having absolutely no idea what had happened in her own life.

Weller's eyes flitted away from the water and landed on her when he heard her sigh. He was pretty sure that he knew what it meant. This place could do wonders for a person when they needed to escape from reality, but eventually, thoughts of reality crept back. How many times had that happened to him? Far too many to count. Even though he couldn't imagine how difficult it was to be her at that moment, he knew the feeling of struggling to find peace. He'd been doing it as long as he could remember. He just couldn't imagine trying to do that in her situation. It had to be terrifying.

"It's going to be okay, ma'am," he told her, looking at her with that intense stare that she had already come to recognize from him. Somehow, the word "ma'am" felt more and more wrong every time he said it to her… but that was the way he had always addressed female subjects. It was a sign of respect. So then why did it not feel right to call her "ma'am?" Somehow he felt like he already knew her too well for that. But of course, that was ridiculous… _wasn't it?_ After all, they'd only met twenty-four hours ago, if that long.

Giving him a weak smile and a halfhearted nod she looked away, as if she wasn't convinced… because she really _wasn't_ convinced. _How can he promise that, anyway?_ she wondered. _How can he know that it's going to be okay?_ _No one can know that for sure unless they can see the future. And besides, realistically, how is_ _ **any**_ _of this going to be okay?_ She suddenly felt herself falling fast towards an abyss that threatened to swallow her. She inhaled sharply and tightened her grip on the railing.

"I know you don't believe me," he continued in a voice just a little bit gentler than his voice had been a moment before. He'd seen her reaction and knew that something like that was much easier to say than it was to believe.

She could feel the weight of his stare, and she glanced at him just for a second, afraid that if she looked at him any longer, she would crumble.

"But whether you believe me or not, you _are_ going to be okay." He hesitated for a second, but decided he might as well complete his thought out loud. "I'm going to make sure of it." A voice in his head told him that he should definitely not be making that kind of promise… But for some reason, he knew that he would do absolutely anything to make it come true.

She could see him in her peripheral vision, though she didn't look at him fully. His face was so serious and determined. Instead, she just looked out at the water and hoped that she could blink away the tears she felt prickling behind her eyes, hoped that her blinking wouldn't make them fall down her cheeks instead. She wanted _so badly_ to believe him… and yet, believing him just felt like setting herself up for disappointment.

Suddenly she found herself wondering how many times he'd made that same promise to people in his job, and how many of those times it had actually been true. After all, this was what he did for a living. Helping her was just his _job_. This fucked up situation was her _life_ , but to him… well, she was just an assignment. Her shoulders slumped a little bit at the thought. She really was alone, and it was hitting her all over again.

Still, as she steadied herself and then hesitantly looked back up at him, even knowing that this was just part of his job, she desperately wanted, no _needed_ , to believe him. As she held his eye contact, it was almost as though she felt a tiny amount of his hope and determination transfer to her. _If he believes that strongly that it'll be okay… maybe, just maybe, it can be._ It was a silly thing to believe, she knew, but it made her feel a little bit less empty. After all, what did she have to lose? The unfortunate answer was… absolutely nothing. She looked away again, afraid to let him see too much of her reaction.

 _No, I have literally nothing to lose_ , she thought, and felt a stab of pain through her heart. _I have nothing and no one to lose… I've already lost it all. Whatever it was in the first place._

It was a fight to keep her emotions from showing on her face, and she wasn't sure how successful she was. She tried to hide it all by continuing to stare out into the darkness, her grip on the railing in front of her tightening until she felt her knuckles ache.

As she stared out at the water, it occurred to her that it was a lot like her past. There was so much out there that no one could see. They both held so many secrets, possibly some good and some bad. Possibly all bad, but doubtfully all good. The difference, of course, was that morning would shed light on the dark water. Even though you wouldn't see to the bottom, at least some of it would be visible. She only wished that it was so easy with her life.

He glanced down at this phone and noticed the time. While he could see that she was in the middle of some sort of internal struggle, he also knew that it was likely at least in part because she was exhausted. Sleep would help. So although he still didn't like the idea of interrupting her now, and he liked the idea of leaving her at the safe house even less, he knew that it was time to take her over there. _What's the big deal?_ he asked himself. _It's just for the night. Most likely you're going to see her first thing in the morning. She'll be_ _ **fine**_ _._ Then, for good measure, he added sternly, _Professional, Weller. Remember?_

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Ready to head to the safe house? I'm sure you must be ready to get some sleep."

His voice pulled from her thoughts, which was a relief, and once again she attempted a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah," she replied noncommittally, without looking at him, and not specifying which part of the question she was agreeing with. She wasn't even sure herself. She took one last look out at the water, then said softly, "I can see why you like this place. Thanks for sharing it with me."

"You're welcome," he replied simply, his eyes remaining on her as she looked back out at the water once more. Then as if they'd rehearsed the timing, they turned and started walking in synch towards the car, neither of them speaking. They were both lost in their own thoughts. Back at the car, he opened the door for her and she smiled, an exhausted but genuine smile this time, and mumbled "thanks." He got into the driver's side and they were off, navigating the dark streets to the safe house.

Jane watched the blur of lights go by around them and it was only a minute or so before she once again leaned her head against the window, and just as she had before, fell asleep against the cool glass in seconds.

Weller couldn't explain it, any of it. If forty-eight hours ago you'd told him this was where he'd be, he would never have believed it. And yet, here he was. There was something about this case, something about _her_ , that told him that this case was different… and he was going to solve it. And _not_ just because it was his job, and _not_ just because his name was tattooed on her back, but because something about this case was intensely personal to him. _She_ was already important to him. Whatever it took, _he_ was going to be the one to help her.


	6. Safe House

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

They were en route to the safe house, and hadn't been on the road more than a minute or two when he glanced over at her in the seat beside him and saw her eyelids getting heavy. He couldn't help the slight smile on his face as he looked back at the road ahead. He glanced at her again and saw that she had leaned against the glass of the window, and he was pretty sure she was now asleep, just as she had been a little while ago.

This whole remaining professional thing wasn't going so well, and he knew it. Not that he'd done anything _inappropriate_ , of course. He liked to think of himself as a gentleman even outside of work, and he thought that most people would agree. If anything, he was _too_ reserved, at least according to his sister. When it came to his job, he was the epitome of seriousness, focus and dedication. Always had been. It wasn't something he'd had to learn, it had just come naturally. After all, his life had led him to this career as a direct result of losing Taylor when he was ten years old. If there was one thing he had always been, it was _focused_. Focused on somehow atoning for the sin his ten year old self had believed that he had committed.

Still, however it may have looked from the outside and no matter how he tried to rationalize it to himself, he could feel his thoughts pulling in a decidedly non-professional direction in this case. He was aware that he was staring at her too much, thinking about her too much. But then again, his mind argued, the line was blurry, because as the lead agent on her case it was his _job_ to think about her. He rationalized it to himself, but at the same time, he knew it was a lie. _To think about her_ _ **case**_ _, yes. To think about_ _ **protecting**_ _her, yes. But not just to think about_ _ **her**_ _. Not like_ _ **that**_ _, the way you're doing it_ , the voice in his head reminded him. He just couldn't help it, though he swore to himself that it was just the case, the fact that his name was on her back. He was just trying to figure out what he was missing, because clearly there was a connection that he hadn't found yet.

 _At least be honest with yourself,_ the voice chided him. _There's just something about_ _ **her**_. He forced his eyes back to the road ahead and was thankful that it was late so that consequently traffic was light, since he was unable to focus completely on the road in front of him. The sleep deprivation was quickly catching up with him, and combined with the distraction of the woman beside him… well, he knew he wasn't giving driving his full attention just then.

Of course, he caught nearly every red light in the twenty block drive to the safe house, which meant that it took longer than it logically should have to get there at that time of night. He didn't mind, despite the exhaustion that was slowly robbing him of his better judgement. Instead, he used the time at each traffic light to steal another glance at her. _You need to get ahold of yourself, Weller_ , the voice told him for perhaps the fiftieth time that night. He knew that it was the truth, but it made no difference. His eyes were drawn to her by what seemed like magnetic force.

The security detail was already there waiting for them when they pulled up in front of the nondescript, aging duplex building. Weller got out of the car, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar when he closed it behind him, to avoid waking her up with the noise of shutting it, and walked to the car parked in front of them. There he shook hands with the agents who had been waiting for them, exchanged a few pleasantries and made sure that they had been sufficiently briefed. The wind had a little bit of a bite to it, but it helped to wake him up, for which he was grateful. He turned back and peered into his car, seeing Jane still asleep against the passenger side window. Her face was… peaceful, he thought. It was a relief to see her look so untroubled after twenty-four hours of those tortured looking eyes.

He wondered what more he could possibly do to be able to see such a look on her face when she was awake. There had been glimpses of such peace in the few times she had managed to smile, and he had noticed that it had made him smile as well, even made his heart swell just a little. This, of course, was only because he felt even more involved with the case than usual. It was perfectly normal that he felt extra responsible for her wellbeing, of course, given the situation. After all, it wasn't every day that a woman you'd never met before was found with your name tattooed across her back and no idea who she was or how it had gotten there.

 _Watch it_ , his inner voice warned his galloping thoughts, which, as usual in the past few days, took no notice of his plea for caution.

He couldn't open the passenger door with her leaning against it, not wanting her to tumble out onto the sidewalk, so he walked back around the car and quietly let himself back in through the driver's side door. He looked at her uncertainly, not quite sure of the best way to wake her up, not wanting to do it at all, but knowing that he had no choice. As much as he disliked the thought of leaving her at the safe house, they also couldn't just sit in the car all night. Remembering the previous time she'd woken up in the car, he turned his body to face her as completely as he could while sitting in the driver's seat, braced for her startled reaction. Once again, he felt the unexplainable urge to reach out for her, but he quickly pushed it aside. _Professional_ , he repeated to himself silently _._

Clearing his throat slightly, he wasn't surprised when she seemed to jump with the split second of panic that came from waking up in a strange place once again. He put his hands up in front of him slightly, to show that he wasn't going to hurt her, and watched as recognition flooded her face before she relaxed again. No, he noted, it wasn't just recognition. He could have been mistaken, of course, but the smile she gave him after that initial split second of panic was the smile you would give someone that you were desperately happy to see. He couldn't help but mirror her smile, albeit at a lower intensity. _Stop grinning at her, you idiot_ , he demanded of himself. He managed to turn down his smile a little more.

"Hey," she said in a sleepy voice, covering her mouth as she yawned. "I remember you."

Never would he have imagined that four such simple words could have the effect on him that they did coming from her. His stomach flipped ever so slightly, and he had to fight hard to retain any semblance of control over his face so that he didn't just grin like an idiot. He hadn't though it was possible, but the familiarity and warmth in those four words surpassed her previous record, when she had called him "the nicest idiot I know." He smiled ever so slightly to acknowledge the weight of what she was saying, nodding his head slightly.

"That's progress," he replied, somehow retaining enough control this time – at least on the outside.

She seemed to suddenly notice that they were parked, and turned to look at the building that they were sitting in front of. "Is this the safe house?" she asked.

"Yeah, and your security detail has already cleared it, so we're good to go inside." He watched her reaction carefully, noting that she seemed the slightest bit puzzled.

"They cleared it, but I'll just come in and make sure everything's in order before I get going. I just feel better if I've seen it for myself," he clarified, then added, "If that's okay with you of course."

She nodded quickly. "Of course. Yeah…" she couldn't think of anything else to say, but she was glad that he was planning to come inside, even just for a minute. It wasn't that she doubted that her security detail was perfectly competent. After all, they were FBI agents. But they were also strangers to her; strangers who were going to wait outside. They'd keep her safe, but they'd do so from a formal distance. That was their job, what they were there for, and that was fine with her, since she didn't even know their names. Had anyone told her? She couldn't remember.

No, it was only now that she was facing the prospect of a night – what was left of it, anyway – in the safe house that she realized how completely alone in the world she was. She barely knew Weller either, but by default, she knew him best. It wasn't just that, though. Somehow she just knew that she could trust him. It was more than just the fact that he was the only person who'd been nice to her, who'd treated her like a _human being_ , since the whole thing started – though that was definitely the case. So though she knew it was a silly thing to focus on, she felt infinitely better at the thought of not going into her safe house alone, and even more thankful that he was the one going inside with her. Soon enough, she knew, she would be alone with her thoughts and her worries.

She tried to figure out what it was that made her trust Weller, but it wasn't something she could quite pinpoint. There was something more than simply respect or kindness when he spoke to her, when he looked at her, though those were there as well... or was she just imagining it? That thought – that whatever she thought she'd seen in his eyes was all in her head – crashed into her, hard, and brought down the fragile tower that she had managed to build in her mind in the past few hours.

Suddenly it seemed entirely possible that she'd been seeing what she'd wanted to see. How could she think that he cared about what happened to her, a complete stranger with no memory of her own life and freakish tattoos all over her? No, she needed far more, in every way, than any stranger could be reasonably expected to give her. The thought made her shudder.

 _It isn't his job to babysit me_ , _though_ , she thought miserably, and he'd already done that very thing for _hours_. Surely he'd had enough and wanted to go home. It was the middle of the night, for goodness sake! He'd been up as long as she had, probably even longer. She wasn't even inside the door of the safe house, and already the emptiness of it – of her _life –_ was threatening to overwhelm her.

Any amount of calm that she'd gained from the trip to the waterfront with Weller was quickly dissipating, replaced by a quickly spiraling apprehension brought on by the thought of being alone. Alone in the safe house, and just alone in general. She willed herself to stay calm. For the moment, Weller was still there. _Don't jump ahead_ , she thought, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to project a calm that she didn't feel whatsoever. She tried to rewind to the part when he had told her that it was going to be okay. Even if it was a lie that he told every subject of every investigation that he worked, it was one that she desperately wanted, no, _needed_ , to believe just then.

He was watching her carefully, and could tell that something was going through her mind. Whatever it was, she was clearly unsettled, because what little calm he'd seen her gain in the past few hours seemed to be vanishing before his eyes. He wanted to do something, but he felt powerless to stop it. The best thing he could think of to do was to distract her from her thoughts.

"So, shall we go inside?" he asked her, and watched her seem to come out of the daze she'd been in.

He watched her eyes as they darted around quickly, then settled on him, as she took a deep breath and said simply, "Yes." It wasn't lost on him that she looked completely terrified.

He pushed the driver's side door, which was still slightly ajar, open to let himself out, and made it around the car before she'd climbed out completely, just as he had before. Once again, he pulled the door open a little more for her and closed it after her. He watched her carefully, hoping to see the panic fade from her eyes, even a little bit. Here he was, getting ready to leave her at the safe house, which he hadn't wanted to do in the first place, and she looked more fragile than ever. This was not helping him.

She stopped on the sidewalk and turned around to look at him, realizing that the door was probably locked, and that she didn't have a key. As if on cue, he fished a set of keys out of his pocket – the security detail had given him two sets, one for her and one for him – and held it out to her. "Your keys," he said unnecessarily, looking her in the eyes and, to his dismay, still seeing panic. "Your security detail also has a set, and…" he paused as if he didn't want to finish his sentence, glancing down, then all around them, anywhere but at her.

Finally, after what felt like a long time, but was actually only a few seconds of silence, he mumbled, "I have one too." He wasn't quite sure why he felt so uncomfortable telling her that he had keys to her safe house. After all, he was the lead agent on her case. It was his responsibility to keep her safe. _Of course_ he had keys to her safe house. And yet… it felt almost too… intimate. He wanted to shake himself and tell himself to snap out of it, already.

She couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't wanted to tell her that he had a key to the safe house, because he clearly hadn't. _Why did he seemed embarrassed? Okay, yes, it's a little awkward, but really, at this point, what isn't?_ Her confusion distracted her momentarily from her panic, and she watched him with curiosity now, as he looked down at the keys in his hand.

She reached up and took the key ring from him, his fingers brushing hers ever so quickly in the hand off, leaving a sudden warmth in their wake that made her forget the cold that the wind was inflicting on them. _Did he do that on purpose?_ she wondered, then decided she must be reading _far_ too much into what was going on.

 _He was just handing you keys,_ she told herself with annoyance. _You must be more tired than you thought… this guy doesn't want anything from you. He wants to go home and go to sleep. He's here because it's his_ _ **job**_ _to be here, to see that you get inside safely. You're important to the FBI because you're covered in some crazy-ass tattoos, one of which is the name of an FBI agent. You're a puzzle to them, a mystery to solve._ _ **Nothing else.**_

He noticed that she suddenly looked tense again, as if her thoughts were getting the best of her. To a certain extent, he knew, that this should be expected. After all, absolutely everything was new to her. He couldn't begin to imagine how stressful that must be. Still, he didn't like the look of panic that he kept seeing in her eyes every time she seemed to get lost in her thoughts for more than a few seconds. He kept watching her, trying to decide if there was anything he could do, as he motioned for her to go first towards the door. She did, looking back over her shoulder after a few steps to see if he was following her. He was, of course, just a few steps behind. She couldn't help but notice him peering around to assess their surroundings, ever vigilant. He knew from experience that you could never be too careful.

Her key stuck slightly in the lock the first time, but after a few tries, she got it to turn. There was a second keyhole below it, which necessitated the second key on the ring, but this one moved more easily. When she finally had the door unlocked, she swung it open to reveal a perfectly adequate entryway, plain in every way possible. For some reason it made her sad. It wasn't shabby or run down, it was just devoid of all life and personality. It was just… there. _Like me_ , she thought. _Just… here. No history, no family. Just… here._

He sensed her hesitation as she stepped forward, and he followed behind her into the entryway, securing the two locks on the door behind him. He'd been here on other occasions, with other assets, each situation different. The safe house looked exactly the same each time. Now, however, he felt as though he was seeing it for the first time. He didn't remember ever thinking that it looked anything other than perfectly adequate, if slightly devoid of personality. But then, it was maintained by the FBI, not an interior decorator.

This time, however, as he watched her looking around, he couldn't help but see this place through her eyes, or at least, he saw it the way that he _imagined_ that she was seeing it. The only word that came to mind to describe this place at the moment was… _sad._ Or was that word describing her? Or was it describing _him_? He couldn't differentiate between the three at the moment, he only knew that that was what the house was making him feel.

They walked further into the house, her eyes darting around everywhere. He'd been there before, so he took the lead. From the entryway they walked past the staircase that led up, through a small living room with a couch and a tv on a small stand, towards a dining room that contained a large table, but curiously, no chairs. It didn't matter. _What do I need a dining room for, anyway?_ she thought sadly, her emotions becoming more raw with every step she took. There was no point in sitting in there on her own, and she didn't have anyone else to sit there with.

"So this is the safe house," Weller said unnecessarily as they stood just in between the living room and the dining room. "We use it for people under protective custody." He turned and looked back into the sparse living room, feeling badly about leaving her here and therefore trying to talk to cover his discomfort. "There's a couch, a TV. Everything you need." He looked back at her uncertainly then, slightly anxious about her reaction to this place that suddenly felt completely inadequate to him. If only there was some way to make this easier for her.

Looking at him unsurely for a second, she asked in a small voice, "Are the, um, the guys outside…" She turned back and looked towards the door, and then back at him. "Are they to keep people out, or me in?" When she looked back at him, he could see so much uncertainly in her eyes.

"No, no," he replied quickly, looking toward the door as well. "They're here just for now to keep you safe. Til we get to the bottom of this." He paused then, not knowing what else to say. It was time to leave, he knew, though he hated the thought of doing so. "I'll give you some privacy," he told her, looking down.

"Wait," she said quickly, feeling the panic she'd managed to suppress before rising again. "You're leaving?"

 _Of course he's leaving,_ she thought. _He hasn't slept in days. Did you think he was going to sleep on the couch of your safe house?_

Clearly she had known that he was going to leave, it was just… now that the moment was there, she wanted to stall him. The thought of being alone was simply too much.

"Yeah," he forced himself to say. He didn't want to, but… he couldn't think of an excuse to stay. "I'll give you some privacy. You should… get some sleep, or get something to eat. So… if there's any food you like, tell the security guys and they'll get it for you."

"I don't… I don't know what I like," she managed to get out without sounding _quite_ as desperate as she felt. Still, she hated herself for both the fact that she really didn't know what she liked, and the fact that she was now practically begging him not to leave. At least that was how it felt to her.

 _Dammit, Weller_! he thought, disappointed with himself for saying the wrong thing again. _Just put your foot in your mouth again, why don't you?_ He noticed that this time she didn't seem quite as affected by the fact that she didn't know what food she liked, but it was probably because she was already distracted by the fact that she didn't seem to want him to go. It was stupid, really, because neither of them wanted him to go, apparently, but of course he _had_ to go. There was no other option. Not if he had a prayer of being able to claim he was "remaining professional," which was already in serious jeopardy based on his thoughts alone. Mayfair would most likely have some issues with it even if all he did was camp out on her couch.

"Right, umm… I'll get them to get you a bunch of menus, so you can choose."

She was at a loss for words, and she looked away from him, her thoughts now spiraling. She didn't know what she wanted, whether or not she wanted – or would be able – to eat or sleep, all she knew was one thing that she _didn't_ want, and that was to be alone in this safe house. And despite the fact that that was the one thing she didn't want more than anything, that was exactly what she was about to be. _Alone_. She struggled to breathe evenly as panic threatened to overtake her.

Her eyes snapped back to him when, after a few seconds of silence, he said, "Goodnight, ma'am," and without waiting for her response, strode purposefully toward the front door. It was all she could do to stand helplessly and watch him go, willing herself not to fall apart. She felt the panic increasing past anything she could ever remember feeling before, not that that went back very far, and she momentarily felt like her legs would give out.

He walked quickly to the front door, because he was honestly afraid that he would change his mind about leaving. She had looked so desperate, so scared… there was nothing he wanted more than to _not_ have to leave her there alone… but what was the other choice? Realistically, there wasn't one. So, though he hated every second of it, he'd managed to be more businesslike than he had been since he'd first laid eyes on her in the interrogation room and had forced himself to say a formal goodbye and then leave before his emotions had the chance to betray him. He had obviously let this woman affect him too much over the course of this very long, strange day. He needed to get a grip on himself, get home and get some sleep. Tomorrow would be there before long, and he had a feeling that it would be another long and difficult day, if this one was anything to go on.

When the front door closed behind him, she let out a ragged breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and walked slowly backwards, nearly tripping over her own feet, until her back came in contact with the wall. From there, she slid downwards to the floor and began breathing hard, faster and faster until she was gulping for air. She tried to take deep breaths, to calm herself down, but it was as though she simply could not take in oxygen fast enough.

She wondered if this was what it was like to have a panic attack, and if she had ever had one before. That thought – the not knowing something as simple as whether she had ever before had a panic attack – was enough to make her current panic worse, and it sent her spiraling past gulping for air. It was then that she felt hot tears on her face, which only made her feel worse, if that was at all possible. She hugged her knees tightly and laid her head down on top of them, her whole body shaking. It was all simply too much.

Meanwhile, across town, Kurt made it back to his own apartment. His sister, Sarah, and his nephew, Sawyer, who were staying with him at the moment, had long since gone to bed, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep right away. So he took out the Jane Doe case file and sat down at the dining room table, pulling out the pictures of her tattooed body. There were pictures from every angle… just when he thought he'd seen all of the tattoos, he looked closer and discovered new ones. It was like a puzzle, but a sick and twisted one.

And yet, it was so much more than just a puzzle. He had a feeling that this case was far more complicated than they had figured out yet. Still, the biggest question, to him at least, was why his name was tattooed – and so boldly – across her back. That was the picture that he sat and stared at the longest, until his eyelids began closing and he admitted to himself that he needed to go to bed, at least for a few hours, before it was time to go back to work.

Eventually Jane ran out of tears, having cried for what felt like hours. When she finally picked up her head from the little ball she had rolled herself into, her entire body felt stiff and heavy. Somehow, she slowly managed to push herself to her feet and towards the stairs. She hadn't been past the first floor yet, and she might have been nervous venturing upstairs for the first time alone, had she not been so exhausted, emotionally and physically, that she simply could not bring herself to care who or what may be up there. Slowly, clinging to the banister, she made it to the top, only to find that the second floor was as dull and depressing as the first. Not that it mattered. Not that _any_ of it mattered. She had exhausted her supply of panic, but sadness continued to cling to her like a cold, wet blanket.

She found the bedroom, which contained the barest minimum of furniture. She had removed her pants already when her reflection in the mirror on the wall nearby caught her eye. She hadn't really had much of a chance to look at herself since she'd crawled out of the bag in Times Square, not beyond what she could see that was visible with all of her clothes on. Standing in front of the mirror, she stared at herself in horror. What she saw staring back at her… it was some sort of freak, some sort of monster. She tugged at her button down shirt, now unbuttoned, and the tank top underneath it, pulling them lower to reveal more skin, each movement exposing more and more ink. It covered her entirely, and the more of it she saw, the more nauseous she felt. She removed both shirts, dropping them to the ground, and stood there wearing only the boy short style underwear that she had chosen from the few items that the FBI had provided.

She stared at herself in horror, bringing her hands to her face to be sure that what she was seeing was real, before turning her hands around to examine the patterns on the backs of them once again. She began to shake as she held her hands crossed against herself, the tattoos that covered her skin making her appear much less naked than she actually was. She watched in the mirror as her own face contorted in agony, and it was almost as though she was watching it happen to someone else entirely.

The shaking grew worse, and within seconds she found herself on the floor for the second time that night, this time on her knees, as her forehead sank forward to the floor, her arms wound tightly around herself. She cried so hard that no sound escaped her, and she found herself falling over on her side, curled into the fetal position on the small rug on her bedroom floor. She fought to breathe as her mind, like her body, screamed silently from the overload of everything she had been through.

Weller laid in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. He'd been practically falling asleep for how many hours now, and now that he was lying in bed, he simply couldn't turn off his thoughts. It figured. So many thoughts were in his head, and his mind jumped from one to another to another, with no particular logic other than just a stream of consciousness. He checked the clock for the fifth time, noting that the amount of time remaining before he had to be awake was now painfully small. He sighed, and told himself, like he had told Jane, that it would be okay. He sighed heavily, fairly certain that he didn't believe himself any more than she probably had. Not too long after that, he finally succumbed to a fitful sleep, full of anxious dreams that he wouldn't remember the next day.

Sometime later, she didn't know how long, she woke up on the floor, cold and stiff. Groaning, she pulled her gray tank top, the closest article of clothing, to her and pushed herself to sit up. Slipping it over her head, she stood up weakly and managed to walk the few steps to the bed in the middle of the room. She found just enough strength to pull back the covers before she crawled across it to the middle, curling herself tightly into a ball on her right side and pulling the covers over herself. Within less than a minute, she was asleep.


	7. Empty

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _Author's note: THANK YOU to all the people who's been reviewing this story, and writing such lovely things about it. I'm happy that you're enjoying it, because I love writing it. Your reviews truly make my day. It's hard to believe that this is chapter 7 and I'm still working from the Pilot… there's just so many powerful emotions to capture. In future chapters, you'll notice that I'll skip through some of the actual case-of-the-week details of the various investigations more quickly, depending on what's going on. I love the action and adventure in the show, but the relationship between Jane and Kurt is my main focus (and they certainly give each other enough smoldering looks to keep me quite busy with just what's going on between them). Not to say that the other characters won't show up, of course. And now, I'm itching to get to all the good stuff… so, enjoy!_

Jane woke up the next morning – a few hours later, really – and the first thing she noticed, even before she opened her eyes, was that she was waking up in a bed for the first time that she could remember. Strangely, though, she felt sore and stiff all over, which didn't make sense to her until a few seconds later, when the events of the previous night washed over her all over again. She exhaled loudly as the emotions hit her all at once, and she rolled herself into a tight ball just as she had the night before. This time, however, no tears came, and though her breath and heart rate did increase for a few minutes, it wasn't too long before they slowed back to normal again. She just didn't have the energy to fall apart this morning.

Eventually she relaxed and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling in the semi-darkness. Light was only just beginning to filter through the window across the room, and the street noises outside were faint. She looked around for a clock, but found none. _It doesn't matter_ , she thought miserably, _it's not as though I have somewhere to be._ Sighing heavily, she counted the faint cracks above her in the ceiling until, somewhere around 46, she couldn't stand it anymore. Slowly, she pushed the covers off of her and sat up, swinging her feet to the ground beside the bed.

Getting up was the last thing she wanted to do… but she also didn't want to just lay there and do nothing. It didn't feel like there was a point to any of it, but she had to do _something_ , so she may as well get up. Besides, there were at least two other people with keys to her place, and if she stayed in bed all day, they would eventually just let themselves in to look for her. If it was because they cared about her, that may have been a comforting thought. However, the reality was that they would come and look for her because of _what_ , not _who_ , she was to them – a human treasure map of some kind, or maybe just some sort of freak covered in strange tattoos that happened to include the name of an FBI agent. Aside from the FBI, no one in the world even knew who she was or that she existed. Hell, _she_ didn't even know who she was.

She sighed, rested her elbows on her knees and leaned over to put her head in her hands. Even if she _could have_ remembered the rest of her life, surely she never would have felt more desperate and alone that she did now. Surely, it would just not have been possible.

Breathing deeply a few times to steady herself, she finally pushed up to a standing position and shuffled slowly to the bathroom. _Just focus on the next step_ , she told herself. Brush your teeth. But even that thought caused her slight panic. _Is there a toothbrush in there for me?_ It seemed that every single thing she did or thought about doing, no matter how simple, reminded her how little she knew about herself. Every single time it felt like a punch in the stomach.

But she walked into the bathroom and discovered that yes, there was a toothbrush and toothpaste there for her, along with towels and a set of clean clothes, neatly folded. She exhaled loudly, glad that someone had at least given her that much, simultaneously hating that she had to be given absolutely everything. She had nothing of her own, not even her memories. That was the ultimate violation.

After showering and changing into clean clothes, she felt just a little better, though she still had the sensation that she was walking through an emotional fog that just wouldn't lift. Her discarded clothes from the previous night were still on the floor in front of the mirror, and she had a momentary flash to the breakdown she'd had as she'd stood in that spot and looked at herself, nearly every inch of skin covered in hideous ink.

After entertaining the notion of picking up the clothes from the floor, she found that she just didn't care quite enough. Why bother expending the energy to bend down and pick them up? What would she _do_ with them? What was she going to do about laundry? It was a silly thing to worry about right now, she knew, but it was just one more mundane question that, put together with everything else, compounded to make her feel that she knew absolutely nothing about even the most basic parts of this pathetic excuse for a life. It was as though reality had to slap her in the face with the fact that she had nothing, over and over again. So she simply walked past the clothes, hating them for what they reminded her of.

She walked down the stairs slowly, looking around at the empty first floor. Everything was just as she'd left it. Silent. Untouched. _Cold_. A shiver went down her spine. Was she even really here? This place was so empty, so quiet, she almost felt as though she didn't exist.

Slowly, she made her way to the kitchen at the back of the first floor. She stood in the middle of the room, looking around at the bare countertops. She stepped forward tentatively and opened an upper cupboard. A few plates, a few glasses. The essentials. She closed it again, leaned down and opened one of the lower cupboards. A few pots and pans, a cutting board. She closed that one again as well. Taking the few steps to the refrigerator, she couldn't help but wonder if there was anything inside. She opened it to reveal… a stark white interior, nothing else. Again, it seemed symbolic. Empty, like her.

Logically, she knew that whoever had given the order to grant her this place had done so in the middle of the night, just before she'd arrived, not leaving any time for shopping, and that it was ridiculous and childish to be having such a strong reaction to an empty refrigerator. Still, she couldn't help it. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was pure emptiness, so complete that it matched the empty refrigerator. Her stomach flipped slightly as she got the sensation that the floor had vanished below her and that she was falling into nothingness. She closed the refrigerator door and backed away from it, as though putting physical distance between her and it would somehow stop the falling. It didn't.

Suddenly, she needed to get out of this empty house, away from here. She knew that the only other option was the FBI building, but at that moment it seemed like the better one. Walking towards the front door, she tried not to look around her at the drabness of the house, which was only making her feel emptier by the minute. She realized she needed her keys to the door, and walked back to the dining room table, where they were sitting by themselves. She wasn't sure how they'd gotten there, but there they were. Walking quickly back to the door, she unfastened the locks and let herself out as quickly as she could. A man in sunglasses and a trench coat was standing outside her door, and turned around in surprise at her quick exit. She smiled awkwardly at him, slightly embarrassed. She didn't know his name, or even if they'd been introduced.

"Good morning," she mumbled, glancing at him quickly before turning around to lock her door.

"Good morning, ma'am," she heard him say over her shoulder.

She turned back around, shoved the keys in her pocket and looked at him uncertainly. "I'm supposed to take you to headquarters, if you're ready," he told her. His tone was very formal, all business, though not unfriendly. He reminded her of the safe house. Perfectly adequate, but dull. Safe, but sad. She just nodded at him. What else did she have to do? Absolutely nothing, of course.

He opened the back door of the black SUV for her, and she climbed in. The fact that she was riding in the row behind him, while she understood _why_ , just contributed to her feeling of isolation. She glanced at the clock in the front panel of the car. 6:22 am. It was even earlier than she'd thought. Surely there wouldn't even be anyone at headquarters so early. She wondered fleetingly what in the world she was going to _do_ when she got there. Not that it mattered.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her seat, trying to quiet the noise in her mind. It wasn't working. She felt simultaneously wide awake and desperately tired, and her head was beginning to hurt. She leaned toward the door, at first with her head against her hand, anchored by her elbow that leaned on the molding of the door, but then continued to lean over until her forehead found the cool glass of the window, as it had twice in Weller's car the previous night. The familiarity of it, and the fact that it reminded her of the little bit of calm she had achieved around him the previous night, helped to ease the pounding in her head ever so slightly.

Her security detail didn't talk to her during the drive to FBI headquarters, though she did hear him reporting his change in location to whoever was on the other end of his earpiece. That was fine with her. She kept her eyes closed, and her head leaned against the window. By the time they arrived, pulling into the secure parking garage, her headache had almost subsided. When she heard him exit the car, she sat up and looked around, and seconds later there he was again, opening her door for her. He nodded at her with a formal – not friendly and also not unfriendly – look on his face once again. She attempted to smile at him, though she didn't think it actually worked, and whispered, "Thank you," as she climbed out of the SUV.

She looked around at her surroundings as she followed him, without being instructed, to the bank of elevators nearby. Was this the same garage she'd been in last night with Weller? She had no idea. It didn't matter, anyway. She felt like a lost puppy that was being taken to a shelter to wait to be adopted. It wasn't a nice feeling. Her security detail – she really was going to have to figure out the guy's name, and the names of any others there might be – escorted her through what felt like a maze of hallways to a conference room, opening the door for her and indicating that she should go inside. She looked at him uncertainly, but he just nodded, so she walked slowly into the empty conference room. "Someone will be right with you, ma'am," the man told her.

There was that word again. _Ma'am._ Weller called her that too. She hated it. Granted, she didn't actually know what her real name was, so it was difficult for her to insist that they call her something else. Still, even the name that they'd given her as a placeholder – Jane Doe – seemed better than being called _ma'am_. Okay, yes, Jane Doe usually referred to a dead body, but at least it was a _name. Ma'am_ , on the other hand, that wasn't even a name, just a word. She knew once again that she was taking something very small _much_ too seriously, but that was all she had to think about. The little things, the details. All the things about herself and her life that everyone took for granted. Things that people just _knew_ about themselves _._ But she didn't, and she hated it. She was tired and stressed and miserable and alone, and all she wanted was for someone to make her remember who the hell she was and what had happened to her.

She nodded quickly at the agent in front of her. "Thank you," she replied sincerely. It was sad, but just the fact that he took a few second to say a few words to her had felt like music to her ears. It certainly was better than the silence the boomed there the rest of the time.

Turning to walk into the conference room, she saw a sturdy, dark-colored wooden table in the center of the room, surrounded by large, comfortable looking swivel chairs on wheels. The table was bare except for a bottle of water sitting beside a paper towel, on which there was a large muffin. Beside it was a piece of paper with a handwritten note written on it, which read, "I know you don't know what you like, so just try it. (It's blueberry)" With that note sitting beside it, the muffin could only be for her. Just then, she felt her stomach churn aggressively, and she realized that she wasn't quite sure when she had last eaten. Time had been a pretty fluid concept to her so far, and she hadn't even tried to keep track.

Though she didn't know who had left her the muffin, she decided that, being inside the FBI building, it was safe to eat it. She pulled out the chair closest to her and sank down into it, noting that it was even more comfortable than it looked. Tugging the paper towel gently towards her, she broke off a piece from the top of the muffin to taste it, as she'd been instructed. She was pleased to find that it was delicious, and she realized that she was much hungrier than she'd thought. Within a few minutes, she had finished both the muffin and the water, and was feeling slightly more human that she had up to that point.

Feeling grateful to whoever had left her the muffin, she threw her trash into the garbage can in the corner, folding the note and putting it in her pocket. _What are you keeping that for?_ she asked herself. She didn't really have an answer to that question, but somehow, the fact that it had been written to her made it special in her mind. After all, it was basically the only thing she had that was really her own.

Once again, this thought made her feel a strong twinge of sadness, but she did her best to push it from her mind. Taking a deep breath, she sat back down in the chair and looked around the room, wondering what to do next, and how long she was going to be sitting there. She was surprised to feel herself shaking slightly, and she took a long, deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to calm down.

Just then, she heard the door open behind her, and she opened her eyes and turned around to see Weller standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe and looking as exhausted as she felt. Unable to help herself, she smiled at him, looking directly in his eyes. She couldn't figure out what it was about his eyes that made it so easy to get lost in them.

There was no one else she could have been happier to see, though to be fair, he was also the only person who she would have been able to identify by name at this point. She watched as, as if by magic, the neutral, vaguely haunted expression dissolved from his face, and he smiled slowly back at her, their eyes locked.

 _Maybe I'll make it through today after all_ , she thought hesitantly.


	8. Breakfast

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _Author's Note: Ohhhh, that Fall Finale! It blew my mind to the point that I think it may take me the full three months to process it! The waiting is already agony, and I suddenly feel like writing_ _ **this**_ _story is like going back to a simpler time. Thanks everyone for following along with the beginnings of Jane and Kurt. We have a lot to look forward to, as we know… Enjoy!_

Kurt woke up feeling uneasy, and it was a few minutes before he remembered that it wasn't just from a lack of sleep. As he lay in the dark, his eyes blinking open and beginning to focus on the shapes around him, bits and pieces of the past few days came back to him. Though he'd gotten far from a full night of sleep, it was the first time he'd slept more than an hour or so in at least a few days, so relatively speaking, he felt much less tired than he had the day before. Still, his sleep had been fitful and he was groggy. As he began to wake up, he suddenly felt adrenaline rush through his system, faster and faster, as the events of the previous day began to piece themselves back together in his brain. Times Square. A woman in covered in tattoos. His name on her back.

 _Piercing green eyes._

 _Jane._

Suddenly, he could see those eyes in his mind, looking at him, _pleading_ with him for help. How was it possible that she had no memory of her own life? It should have been impossible… and yet, that was exactly what had happened. She was telling the truth, that much was clear. She really didn't know who she was, or what had happened to her. He sat up wearily and stretched, pulling himself out of bed and moving slowly toward the shower. It was going to be another long day, and his mind was already racing with anticipation.

When he emerged into the living room, showered and dressed, it was still not yet 5:30 am. Sarah and Sawyer wouldn't be up for at least another half hour, if not more. Looking around at the darkened kitchen area, he wasn't in the mood to make breakfast. He wasn't even hungry, though he knew that Sarah, ever the mother hen of a sister, would have insisted that he eat something. Just before he abandoned the idea of food and walked toward the door, he noticed a large plastic ziplock bag filled with muffins at the end of the counter. _Perfect_ , he thought. He took out a small paper bag from a drawer and tossed in 3 muffins from the plastic bag, closing both of the bags at the tops and replacing the plastic bag on the counter. Grabbing the paper bag, he headed out the door.

It was far from the first time he had arrived at work before 6:00 am. In some ways, he enjoyed getting in early to get things done before there was too much activity in the building, too many people bustling around. He had never considered himself a people person, though he didn't necessarily consider himself a loner, either. There were some people he liked just fine – his team, for example – but plenty of others who grated on his every nerve. The ones who were focused on their work, like him, didn't bother him. In any case, it was early, and even the other members of his team had yet to arrive. It was understandable, of course, since they'd all had a late night.

As he made his way toward the kitchen, passing by Mayfair's office, he was surprised to see the Assistant Director already at her desk. He paused in her doorway, knowing that she'd want to talk to him about their new case. Jane Doe.

 _The one with the green eyes that can actually speak without using words, and your name on her back,_ the voice in his head reminded him. _The one you can't get out of your mind_.

 _Yes, okay, I get your point,_ he told the voice in annoyance.

He leaned against Mayfair's doorframe and knocked lightly on the open door with his knuckles. She looked up then and saw him standing there. "Weller," she said in a businesslike tone. The two of them had worked together for years, and had many things in common. Among them were a strong work ethic and determination to do the right thing. She nodded towards a chair in front of her desk. "Sit down." Weller walked into the room and took a seat, interested to hear what she had to say.

"So," she began, "you think our Jane Doe's telling the truth?" She trusted Weller's assessments of people, which were nearly always right.

"I do," he told her with a nod. "I think there's something to this." She nodded back at him.

"Well, given that your name is on her back, there's clearly a connection here. Her detail's going to bring her back in this morning. I want her to meet with Dr. Borden first. I'm sure she's traumatized after all this. After that… we'll just keep talking to her, keep going over what we know, until we get a lead we can use. You still okay to be lead on this one?" She looked at him critically. Generally, he was the most capable lead agent she had known in her career with the FBI. He didn't seem to know why this woman had his name tattooed on her back, but she just wanted to make sure that it didn't change anything for him, and that his involvement in the case wouldn't be an issue.

"Absolutely. She seemed to be comfortable enough with me… I don't know what the connection is, but we'll find it," he assured his boss. _I want to help her_ , he thought, but kept it to himself, for some reason. It went without saying anyway, he reasoned. In their jobs, they did almost everything to help people, whether the people they were helping knew about it, or not. Mayfair nodded again.

"Good. I'm not sure exactly what time she'll be in. I'll have them take her to the main conference room when she arrives, then she can see Dr. Borden first thing. He's due in at 8:00, so we'll see how it shakes out. I'll have them let you know when she arrives, so you can check in on her before her session." She looked up at him expectantly, waiting for confirmation.

"Right, sounds good," he told her with a nod. He stood up to go, looking back at her when he was halfway to the door when he heard her clear her throat.

"What does your gut tell you so far?" she asked him.

He made a thoughtful face, shaking his head slightly. "She's telling the truth about not remembering anything, and she's badly shaken up," he replied. "Beyond that… I can't tell yet."

Mayfair nodded in understanding. "Let me know when you have something," she told him. They nodded at each other as he left her office, continuing on his way to the kitchen.

An idea had struck him at some point when he was sitting in Mayfair's office. Something about recalling her eyes, and the way she had looked at him the previous night, clearly not wanting him to leave. She'd been in panic mode, and she probably still was this morning. If he had to put money on it, he would bet that she probably hadn't eaten anything. There probably wasn't anything in that safe house _to_ eat, even if she'd wanted to. In the kitchen, he grabbed two bottles of water from the communal refrigerator and ripped a paper towel off of the roll on the counter then walked directly to the conference room.

When he reached the empty conference room, he walked to the table and sat one of the bottles down, directly in front of the door, along with the paper towel. He opened the paper bag that he was still carrying, setting one of the muffins down on the paper towel. Finally, he walked to a small counter along the side of the room and found a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote a quick note, setting it down beside the muffin. The note read, "I know you don't know what you like, so just try it. (It's blueberry)"

He considered signing the note, but decided not to. It didn't matter who it was from, only that she understood that it was for her. After all, he was about ninety-six percent sure that she hadn't stopped to fix, find or ask anyone else to get her any food, either last night or that morning. How did he know? She was so obviously overwhelmed by the big stuff, so terrified looking, that the chances that she'd taken the time to think about food seemed slim to none. He understood that, because he was the same way when he was consumed by something. If he was in her shoes, food would've been the last thing on his mind.

Having completed his self-appointed mission, he took the paper bag and exited the conference room, walking back down the hall to take another look at the screens, see if he could pick out anything that he'd missed last night. Sometimes it was just a matter of looking at something with fresh eyes. He was still staring intently at the monitors at about 6:45, when his team began to trickle in one at a time. Reade was first, followed not too long after by Patterson. Zapata was last, just before 7:00. They were not people who slept in.

"Weller," Zapata said as she walked up beside Kurt at the screens, "Did they were tell you that Jane Doe's in the conference room? I just walked by and saw her sitting there."

Weller frowned at the news. Mayfair had said that she'd have them tell him when Jane arrived. "No, no one told me. Thanks, Zapata. I'll be back in a bit," he told the team before leaving the room quickly.

He walked briskly through the hall, slowing down when he neared the conference room. He stopped when he came to the glass wall that looked into the room and watched as she sat down at the table, her back to him. From the angle at which he was watching her, she appeared to be staring into space, and he wondered how long she'd been there. Consulting his watch, all he knew was that she had arrived sometime in the past hour or so. He wondered fleetingly how the night in the safe house had gone for her, and hoped that she had managed to get a better night's sleep than he had. _Might as well go ask her, if you're so curious_ , he told himself, and walked the last few steps to the glass door, pushing it open.

She must have heard the door open behind her, because she turned around to face him as he stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe just as he had done at Mayfair's door. He noticed with some dismay that she looked even worse than he'd feared. Besides a look of exhaustion in her bloodshot eyes, she still had that look on her face from yesterday… the deer-in-the-headlights look that made it clear just how terrified she must be at that moment.

However, when she turned and saw that he was the one in the doorway, her whole face seemed to change. She smiled at him, looking directly in his eyes, and it was the same smile she'd given him yesterday after she'd woken up in the car the second time... like she had never been so happy as she was just then, never been so happy to see him. He had to remind himself that in a way, it was true. She didn't remember any other happy things to compare this moment to, so seeing him could very well be making her the happiest that she could ever remember being. There was something about that thought that had him both deliriously happy and terrified at the same time.

He felt the neutral expression that he believed he wore most of the time fall away from his face, and he smiled hesitantly back at her, their eyes locked. He couldn't figure out what it was about her eyes that made it so easy to get lost in them. He had thought that maybe his memories of the previous day had been skewed by the lack of sleep that had led up to it, but no, he was still feeling as drawn to her as he had the day before. There was just something about her, about her eyes.

"Good morning," he said warmly, pushing off the doorframe and coming into the room. "Did you sleep okay?"

Her eyes darted away from him then, and he watched as she her smile faltered. He knew the answer to his question without her having to speak. He pulled out the chair beside hers and sat down, leaving it a few feet out from the table to allow them both some personal space. He looked at her with concern, no longer smiling, and wishing that he could do something for her.

"Rough night?" he asked quietly.

She glanced back up at him and nodded quickly. "Yeah," she confirmed, her voice just above a whisper.

He nodded sympathetically, trying to think of something to say that would take away the pained look on her face. This wasn't his area of expertise. It was ironic that despite the number of opportunities he had to be in this position, due to his job, his sister, Sarah, had always been much better at this kind of thing – connecting with people, consoling them – than he was. Still, he had to try. It was time to change the subject.

"So, did you decide whether you like blueberry muffins?" he asked her, waiting for her to catch on. Just like that, the smile crept back across her face, and he was thankful that he'd thought to leave it for her.

"Yes, I discovered that I do," she said, the smile even evident into her voice. "That was so nice of you. Thanks."

"I kind of figured that you hadn't gotten around to breakfast," he admitted. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have either, in your shoes."

"You were right. I hadn't even realized how hungry I was." She paused, then continued. "Now I know that I like blueberry muffins." Her smile dimmed just a little bit then, as if something had just occurred to her. "That's… one of the only things I know about myself," she added hesitantly.

"It's going to get better, ma'am. I promise." _There's that damned "ma'am" again_ , he thought _. How the hell did it slip out again?_ Like before, it left a taste in his mouth that he didn't like. Surely he could get himself to stop saying it… but what to call her instead? He hadn't heard anyone refer to her as anything but Jane Doe. But she couldn't be going by Jane Doe… not really? Wasn't that only for the dead?

He'd been lost in thought for a minute, thinking about what to call her, and when he returned his attention to her, he noticed that she was staring into space, look as though she was going to cry again. He fixed his eyes on hers, waiting. A few seconds later she looked back up at him, giving a weak smile and taking a deep breath. It could have been his imagination, but he couldn't help but feel the same… connection, for lack of a better word, between them that he'd felt yesterday. It was the strangest thing. Or maybe she was just clinging to him as the only person in the world she knew. Or maybe it was all in his head. He couldn't tell anymore.

"Director Mayfair wants you to meet with Dr. Borden first thing this morning. He's our…" he hesitated before saying the word. "Psychologist. She figured you should talk to someone, a professional, and try to work all this out. Who knows, it may help you get your memory back." She just nodded at him, and continued to watch him silently with watery eyes. He felt like he should say more, but no more words would come. "Come on, I'll walk you down there," he said finally as he stood up from the chair and pushed it back in.

She followed his lead, standing up and pushing in her chair without a word. He held the conference room door for her, and then they walked down the hall side by side, as they had the day before. Even without conversation, she felt slightly calmer walking next to Weller. She saw him glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, and she knew she must be a mess. At the moment, though, she didn't have the energy to care – she was only just barely holding it together. However, she'd noticed that, weaving through the labyrinth of hallways to Dr. Borden's office, she felt a little better with Weller beside her.


	9. Look Right Here

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

Weller had walked with her to Dr. Borden's office. They were a little early and the other man wasn't in yet, so Weller had sat beside her in the somewhat comfortable chairs in the small space outside the psychologist's office. She didn't know what to say to the agent beside her. Hell, she didn't know what to say to _anyone_ , herself included.

She glanced down at her hands in her lap, trying to distract herself from the fact that she didn't know what to say, but that didn't help. She became distracted by the dark ink that started on the backs of her hands and ran on and on, seemingly forever, until it disappeared below the fabric of her clothes. Part of her wanted to claw the fabric off of her so that she could follow the lines, memorize them, study them and somehow make sense of them. The other part of her wanted to claw off her _skin_ , the ink a reminder of how intimately she had been violated every time she looked down at herself. It wasn't helping her mental state, and she felt herself breathing faster and faster the longer they sat there.

Weller was watching her awkwardly, feeling like he should say something, but not having any idea what it should be. She was obviously uncomfortable, and it seemed like it was getting worse as the minutes ticked by. Finally, he saw her looking at her wrists and the overlapping designs that covered all of the exposed skin on the backs of her hands, her wrists and the lower part of her arms, looking as though she was afraid of her own skin, as if she wanted to tear if off rather than look at it any longer. It was then that he knew he had to do something.

Without taking a moment to hesitate, and therefore talk himself out of it as he'd done quite a few times already since he'd met her, he reached out his right hand – the one closer to her – haltingly, the same way she herself had reached out to him the day before in the interrogation room, and laid it gently over the tattooed skin between her wrist and the bottom of the three quarter length sleeve of her shirt. She immediately stopped fidgeting, and the look on her face changed. He glanced from his hand, not quite believing that he'd done something so out of character for himself, to her face, trying to gauge her reaction. He hoped that this hadn't been the wrong thing to do.

She was just about to descend into panic, fidgeting as she turned her arms over and over, trying to follow the never ending lines that crisscrossed each other on her skin, forming patterns and pictures, when suddenly she felt gentle pressure on her left arm just above her wrist. Not just pressure, but a pleasant warmth. She was so surprised that she stopped fidgeting immediately and just looked down at her arm, to the spot from which she felt the sensation radiating. She was surprised to see Weller's hand on her arm in exactly that spot. No wonder the warmth was familiar.

It wasn't that the panic vanished immediately, but as she sat and stared as his hand on her arm, felt him squeeze ever so gently, she felt herself relax enough to breathe more normally, to feel more like she was just desperately nervous, less of a frantic need to claw her own skin off. It didn't escape her attention that he had laid his hand on her skin, and not on the part of her arm that was covered by her shirt. She wondered if he had done that on purpose. For that matter, she wondered exactly why he had decided to reach out to her that way at all. Despite the obvious connection that she could feel between the two of them, he generally seemed very business-like and reserved. She remembered the look on his face when she'd put her hand first on his hand, then her other hand on his face the day before. He'd allowed it, but it had clearly been difficult for him.

He had made sure to put his hand on her _skin_ , not just on the fabric of her shirt. He had seen the look in her eyes, and it was pretty clear that she was terrified, or something very much like terrified, of her own skin, and maybe even herself as an extension. It seemed important to him – no, crucial – at that moment to show her that _he_ wasn't afraid of her, or of the ink on her. He didn't even know why he felt so strongly about it, he only knew that he did.

He was still watching her, seeing her seem to calm down at least slightly, watching the panic seem to dissipate before his eyes, when she slowly looked up at him. The look in her eyes said that she was scared, and yet he could see her taking deep breaths, attempting to stay calm. He squeezed ever so gently on her arm again, to show her that he meant it the first time, and to remind her that she wasn't there alone. Despite it being completely out of character for him, he found that he didn't have to convince himself to do it. It was almost as though his hand had moved to her independent of an actual brain impulse to make him do so.

As they sat there looking at each other, it was almost as though they had exchanged words of some kind, even though they hadn't. Finally, after what felt like a few minutes of them looking at each other and occasionally glancing away, he cleared his throat quietly. "You okay?" She didn't dare to speak, for fear that her voice would betray the fact that she was not okay. Instead, she nodded slightly.

She didn't know why she nodded. What was she trying to prove, anyway? Could he see that she wasn't okay at all, or would he take her at her word? Surely she didn't look at all convincing, or he wouldn't be looking at her with such sadness. No, not sadness, it had to be pity that she was seeing in his eyes. Did she _want_ him to believe that she was okay? Otherwise, why was she bothering to even try to lie? Would it be better if everyone thought she was fine? Would she only get support if they thought she was a basket case?

The questions seemed to go on endlessly. Did she _want_ their help? What kind of help did she want, anyway? Would she have any choice in what happened to her now? Would she be a property of the FBI going forward? Did she need to try to be tough, pretend that none of this got to her? That one seemed next to impossible. But she didn't know these people, after all. What did they think of her? Did they think that she had something to do with this? _Did_ she have something to do with this? Surely not. Surely this was the kind of thing that could only be done _to_ you, because who in their right mind would agree to something so devastating?

She was feeling more than a little dizzy, probably from all the questions bouncing around in her head, and just maybe it also had a little bit to do with the sensation that was radiating down her arm, calming her but making her heart and mind race at the same time. In any case, she tried to quiet the questions that screamed inside her head, to focus instead on him and not think past this moment, not think about anything except that his hand was on her grotesquely tattooed skin. He didn't seem to be afraid of her, so maybe she shouldn't be either.

His soft but gruff voice once again interrupted her thoughts, for which she was grateful. "Deep breaths. That's it." Just those four words. She looked up at him in surprise, wondering if he could actually see inside her head, hear the turmoil that raged there. Or was it just that obvious on her face? She looked at him intensely, as she had the day before when she was trying to recognize him. She didn't know him anymore than he knew her. And yet… no, it wasn't possible. It wasn't possible to have this connection with a perfect stranger. Or _was_ it? After all, she'd lost her memory. Maybe this kind of thing had happened to her before.

Suddenly he watched as a shadow passed across her face, heard the slight gasp and felt her shudder slightly, just for a second, through the hold on her arm, as all of her muscles seemed to contract. Without thinking, he squeezed her arm gently, what he hoped was reassuringly, and was relieved when the panic that had flooded her only lasted a split second before she managed to take another deep breath and seemed to right herself again.

The thoughts – the idea that maybe he _could_ read her, that maybe she had experienced this phenomenon before – unsettled her, making her now even, deliberate breathing falter. She quickly took another deep breath to steady herself, and she felt him squeeze her arm gently, as if trying to help get her back into the right rhythm. No, there was no way he could know, could see inside her head… and yet, he must be, somehow. It was the only explanation.

She closed her eyes, working harder to retain control of her breathing, wondering how to make it all stop. She was trying as hard as she could to stop the endless string of thoughts, but they wouldn't stop. Would they continue like this forever? The thought was enough to make her even more anxious, her increasing anxiety only increasing her panic in what was becoming an endless cycle.

Watching her with concern, Weller noticed that she seemed to be stuck in a spiral of some sort, and that since she had closed her eyes, she was losing her grip on herself more and more quickly. He reluctantly let go of her arm and stood up, striding away purposefully.

She had registered the loss of contact when he'd released his grip on her arm, and had missed the warmth immediately. However, she was too lost in her own panic to open her eyes to figure out what had happened to cause him to let go of her. However, it just made the spiral that she was caught in move faster, since she now felt completely disconnected from the world. She leaned forward, elbows against her knees, her head in her hands, gulping harder and harder for air, like she had in her safe house the night before.

He returned only to return a few minutes later with a bottle of water, finding her in a far worse state than she had been in when he'd left her. Quickly pulling his chair so that it sat perpendicular to hers, with his right knee touching her left, he attempted to get her attention back, putting his hand on her shoulder and shaking her slightly. She didn't seem to notice. He exhaled loudly in frustration, put the water bottle down on the floor, pulled his chair straight in front of her and tried again, hands on both her shoulders, gently shaking her. "Hey," he said, more loudly than he'd spoken to her before. He purposely didn't let himself call her _ma'am_. "Stay with me."

She took a bigger breath then, opening her eyes, and looking right into his. He saw so much pain there. Panic. "Sssshhhhh," he said, looking into her eyes. "Just breathe." She nodded her head, breathing in sharply. He released her shoulders, as if he'd just noticed that he was holding onto them, bringing his forearms down to rest on his knees, leaning forward towards her so that their faces were close together but they weren't actually touching.

He watched her breathe raggedly a few times, then bent down to the side and picked up the water bottle he'd brought her, opening it and holding it out to her. "Here," he said, trying to get her attention. Looking down at the bottle he was holding out to her, she hesitated for a moment before reaching to take it. Her fingertips glanced his ever so slightly as it was passed from his hand to hers, and she felt a momentary spark. She sat back slightly, sipping from the water bottle, staring at the floor and trying to regain her composure. _Breathe,_ she told herself.

She could feel him watching her. When she looked up, her eyes met his and she could see the worry there. It was almost enough to make her smile. It _was_ enough to help slow her breathing. She kept her eyes locked with his, feeling the panic subside once again. "I…" she started breathlessly, but couldn't think of what she was trying to say.

He kept his eyes locked with hers, shaking his head slightly. "Sssshhh… look right here. Don't worry about anything else. Okay?"

She nodded ever so slightly, willing herself to keep looking into his eyes. Not that it was difficult… there was something about them, about _him_ , just as there had been the day before. Once she'd locked onto his eyes, it was hard to look away. Not that she really wanted to. They stayed that way, staring at each other, for several minutes. She sipped from her water, but that was the only time she looked away from him.

Finally, some minutes later, Weller sat back in his chair, still watching her intently, just less insistently. The calmer she seemed to become, the shyer she began to look, until her eyes were darting around the waiting area more than they were looking at him. It didn't bother him, as long as she kept breathing normally though. They heard the faint noise of footsteps coming from down the hall, and her eyes snapped back to his. Her mouth curled into the tiniest of smiles before his eyes, and he couldn't have been happier.

"Thanks," she told him in a whisper. The smile in her eyes was suddenly far more intense than the one on her lips. The look her gave her then… she felt like she was being warmed by the sun, the warmth radiating from his eyes was so strong.

 _What is it about this woman?_ he wondered for the thousandth time. He had almost completely forgotten himself and his aversion to touch, to being in someone else's personal space, when she had started panicking. Now, seeing her smile, it was like the best gift that anyone could give him.

"That's what I'm here for," he replied softly in return.

The footsteps they'd heard coming down the hall rounded the corner into the area where they were sitting now, and Dr. Borden stood in front of them. He took in the seating arrangement and the demeanor of the two people in front of him with interest. He'd been briefed on the case, of course, and he noted that the woman – he knew that they were calling her Jane Doe for the time being – looked as emotionally overwhelmed as he had expected her to, based on what he'd read. "Good morning," he said pleasantly to the two people in front of him. Weller and Jane stood up and stepped around the chairs. "Agent Weller." Dr. Borden greeted the agent with a nod and a handshake, then turned to Jane. "And you must be Jane," he said pleasantly in his British accent. Jane nodded.

"Nice to meet you," she replied, shaking his hand.

"Likewise," he said politely. "Won't you come in?" he asked her.

Jane glanced at Weller, who just nodded at her. "I'll see you later," he told her, looking her in the eyes once again. It felt like a promise, not just a statement of fact, and it made her feel a little better. The tiny smile from a few minutes before appeared on her face again as she looked at him before turning to follow the psychologist into this office. It disappeared as soon as she looked away from Weller, however. She began to follow Dr. Borden with trepidation, knowing that she would be expected to do all the talking in his office. She didn't have any answers, only questions, and she knew that Dr. Borden wouldn't be in the position of providing her with any answers, only _more_ questions.

Sighing, she walked through the doorway into the sparsely furnished office, glancing back over her shoulder at Weller, who was still standing and watching her. Her eyes reflected the conflicting emotions that she was feeling, and he just nodded at her again in encouragement. _No turning back now_ , she thought as the door closed behind her.

He watched the door close behind them. Weller sighed, stood in place for a moment contemplating what had taken place in the last few minutes, and then turned to walk back down the hall toward the screens and the rest of his team. To say that there was a lot of work to be done was quite an understatement.


	10. A Coffee Person

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

Inside the office, Dr. Borden ushered Jane to a chair that sat across a low, square coffee table from an identical chair. He sat down across from her, settling comfortably against the back cushion. Jane, on the other hand, was about as uncomfortable as possible in this new setting. She fidgeted in her chair, unable to be still and working hard to avoid the psychologist's eyes. Dr. Borden watched her for a moment, not in a rush to speak. As he watched her fidget, however, he got the sense that she was only agitating herself further, and finally decided to interrupt.

"So, Jane, you had quite a long day yesterday. Did you sleep alright?" There were no implications in his tone, it was simply a question. She knew that she was expected to talk, so she took a deep breath and tried not to think too much, tried not to analyze the words in her head, only to spit them out in an order that made sense.

"We got to the safe house pretty late. It was…" she began, but faltered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to start again. Trying not to see herself sinking to the floor the moment she was alone there, her heart racing as the panic spiraled faster and faster, as she gulped for air and wondered if she was having a panic attack. Forcing the thought from her mind by willpower alone, she opened her eyes again but kept them on the floor. She breathed in and out deliberately, hoping that by avoiding eye contact with Dr. Borden, she'd have more luck keeping her emotions under control. It didn't feel like it was working.

"You said 'we.' How's your security detail?" he asked when she didn't continue.

Jane shook her head quickly, following up with a moment later with words. "No, I mean, they're fine, I guess… I don't really talk to them much. They're just… there… you know, not big on conversation. I guess that's part of the job? But going to the safe house, I was with Agent Weller." She took another breath, found the words coming out a little more easily now, then explained, "We were in the interrogation room talking, and we were waiting there for a long time, I guess, but the safe house wasn't ready, and…" she thought back to the events that seemed like forever ago, to Weller getting her out of there when she couldn't take it anymore.

"Agent Weller thought it would be better to get a change of scenery, wait somewhere else, so he took me to this little park that overlooks the water. I don't know what it was called… I fell asleep in the car – twice. It was pretty there, with all the lights on the water. It was… calming." Her mouth curled into a small smile at the thought of the view of the water, and of Weller's few words to her there.

… _whether you believe me or not, you are going to be okay._ Then he'd hesitated for a second, and added, _I'm going to make sure of it_.

She had no frame of reference for anything, least of all whether someone was being sincere or just going through the motions, but she would have put her money – if she had any – on the fact that Weller meant what he said. Not just that he meant it because he had good intentions, either. No, the feeling that she got from him told her that he was someone who took his promises very seriously. It was something about the way he looked at her.

She realized that she had let her thoughts drift instead of finishing what she was saying, and a glance up at Dr. Borden told her that he was simply waiting for her to continue.

"Then finally the safe house was ready and we drove over. The security detail met us there." Dr. Borden just nodded, and she knew that he was waiting to see if she would continue. She didn't want to talk about the safe house – she didn't even want to _think_ about the safe house – but she knew that it was unavoidable, so she decided to dive right in. She returned to his original question first.

"Uh… but anyway, I, uh… didn't sleep well." Again, she flashed back to laying curled up in her bed, in the smallest ball she could manage, so exhausted from falling apart that she didn't have the energy left to think about any of it, much less to cry any more than she already had. "I, uh, I didn't like it there. It felt so… sad, so empty. It was hard to be there, almost…" She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes again, remembering, yet simultaneously begging her mind _not_ to remember.

Breathing slowly and deeply, she opened her eyes, now staring at the backs of her hands, which were clenching her knees, her feet planted firmly on the floor in front of her. With a jolt she realized that she was staring at the tattoos on the backs of her hands again then, without even meaning to, and that they were causing her panic to spike.

She forced herself to look elsewhere in the room, at one of the stark white walls, and she tried to start again, but her voice only came out in a whisper. "It was almost… hard to _breathe_ there." Pausing, her eyes darted up to Dr. Borden, who was watching her calmly, sympathetically. His eyes reflected interest and kindness, without any hint of judgement, but they didn't help her calm down. He seemed kind enough, but he was basically a stranger… _like everyone else in the world, whether you knew them or not_ , the voice in her head pointed out less than helpfully.

 _Not everyone_ , her mind countered.

She pursed her lips and looked back down, continuing in a quieter voice. "And I shouldn't have looked at myself in the mirror, it was just one more…" she broke off and closed her eyes, involuntarily this time, suddenly seeing herself falling to the bedroom floor and curling into a heap, sobbing. She took a slow, deep breath, and opened her eyes to find that she was suddenly fighting back tears, even as she looked at the floor. _Fantastic,_ she thought, _I've been here all of three minutes and I'm already losing it._

She took a few more deep breaths to try to get herself back under control, but her voice was now barely even coming out in a whisper. "When I finally went to bed, I guess I was so drained, I… I crashed." _Deep breath,_ she told herself. _You can do it._ "I woke up feeling like I never even slept." Dr. Borden just nodded at her, his expression neutral, just as he had been through the whole session so far.

"I didn't even dream last night. I was really hoping I would. I thought maybe it would…" She stopped again, unable to finish the thought. She just wanted it too much, for her dreams to somehow answer all of her questions, and admitting that it nothing had changed, that she was just as lost as the previous day… It hurt too much. "I just… Someone did this to me. Took away my whole life. And I can't _do_ anything." She was feeling more and more desperate the longer she talked.

Dr. Borden just nodded and turned to the table on his left. He turned back to face her, holding two large coffee cups, one in each hand.

"I got you a coffee and a tea this morning," he said simply. He set them down on the coffee table between them. "Which would you prefer?"

She just looked at him helplessly, sitting back slightly and shaking her head the tiniest bit. Even this question was too much. _But I don't even know what I like_ , her brain screamed. She had the urge to make a break for the door and somehow escape from this labyrinth of endless hallways, endless questions. It would be so much easier… and yet, she knew that she was trapped. Not by the FBI, but trapped inside herself, this stranger.

"Go ahead, try them," he offered gently. He understood her need for answers, and this was the first step. He just needed to show her how to start with small choices, small discoveries.

Dr. Borden watched her intently. _What the hell do I have to lose?_ she thought as she picked up one large cup in each hand. She sipped one first, then the other. She didn't mind the first one, but had a visibly negative reaction to the second, informing him that it tasted like grass trimmings.

"There you go. Number one, you remembered what grass trimmings taste like. And two, you figured out that you're a coffee person." Dr. Borden sat forward in his chair and looked at her kindly. "You're _not_ helpless. We're defined by our choices. You just don't remember yours."

She looked down sadly. If only it were just her _choices_ that she didn't remember! Once again, she fought to keep control of her breathing and her thoughts. _One down, an infinite number to go_ , she thought miserably as she struggled to listen to what the doctor was saying. He was only trying to help, she knew.

"So, just keep trying new things. See what your body remembers. Or make new choices. The more you make, the less helpless you'll feel. Even if nothing ever comes back, you can still find yourself."

 _Find herself_. It sounded too good to be true. She looked at him intently, hoping beyond hope that what he was saying was possible. At that moment, it all felt insurmountable.

When Jane walked out of Dr. Borden's office at the end of the hour, she was completely drained. She'd thought that she was exhausted at the start of the session, but now she felt far more tired. The lack of sleep was catching up to her, and her emotional state was _not_ helping, of course. She was about to turn and ask Dr. Borden if he knew where she was supposed to go next. Maybe Weller would be waiting for her in the chairs outside his office. When she looked up, however, she saw an attractive woman with long, dark hair leaning against the doorframe of the entrance to the waiting area. They hadn't been introduced, but the woman was looking at her as though she was waiting for her, smiling genuinely. Jane smiled at the agent weakly, not sure what was supposed to happen next.

"You're Jane, right?" the woman asked. Jane nodded weakly.

A second of hesitation. _You tell me, who am I?_ she wanted to say. But they had to call her something, she knew, and her identity crisis wasn't this woman's fault. "Uh, yeah," she told her.

The woman nodded at her, pushing herself up off of the doorframe. "I'm Agent Zapata, I work with Agent Weller. You're supposed to come with me." Agent Zapata smiled at her, and Jane felt a little more at ease, enough that she almost smiled back at her. _Almost_.

"Agent Zapata," Dr. Borden said from the doorway of his office. He tipped his head slightly toward his office, indicating that he wanted to talk to her.

"Jane, I'll be right with you, okay?" Zapata said to her. Jane nodded and sank into one of the chairs that she and Weller had occupied an hour before, still in the same positions. Zapata stepped through the doorway of Dr. Borden's office, but the door remained open and she could hear them talking in low voices. Jane let out a shaky breath, trying to regain her composure. She felt like it had already been a long day, and she'd only been awake for a few hours.

A few minutes later, Zapata emerged from Dr. Borden's office, thanking him and smiling kindly at Jane. "Ready?" the agent asked her. Jane nodded, standing up slowly, then walked with the other woman out of the waiting area and through the labyrinth of hallways once again. When they finally walked through a doorway, Jane found herself in a large, busy room with massive flat screen monitors on the wall at the far end. Agent Zapata walked into the room, and Jane followed slowly behind her, not exactly sure what she was doing there. The other woman seemed nice, but she hadn't said much.

The closer Jane got to the front of the room, and more transfixed she was by the images spread across the monitors on the wall. She stared wide eyed, not hearing the conversation behind her. She was looking at herself. More specifically, she was looking at images of the tattoos all over her body. She knew they'd scanned them all, but… it was overwhelming to see so many of them at once.

"Tasha, I thought we were meeting in my office," Weller said, frowning at Zapata.

"No, the doc thought it might be a good idea for her to see all this," Zapata replied.

Jane's brain was somewhat overloaded as she tried to look at everything on all the monitors at once. She wasn't sure if someone was talking to her, or if it was her imagination. Was she really hearing someone say her name, or if it was all in her head? The word that repeated in the fog of her thoughts was "Jane," but it sounded like she was trying to hear underwater. It sounded like Weller's voice. Not that she knew anyone else that she could compare the voice to. After all, she didn't know many people at the moment.

Her eyes settled on some Chinese characters that she didn't remember seeing. "Hey," she asks, "what's this right here? I haven't seen that one yet."

"Oh," Patterson jumped in, "that's 'cause it's behind your left ear. It's only about an inch big, and I sent it off to—"

But Jane wasn't listening to Patterson, because after scrutinizing the characters closely for a moment, she was suddenly reading aloud in Chinese. Everyone was stunned, including Jane herself. Weller stood a few steps to her right, facing her, watching her as she showed off this brand new skill. As usual, he was frowning as he took in this new development.

"So you speak Chinese," he observed seriously. She just looked over at him, as surprised as he was.

"It's an address and a date. _Today's_ date," she told him.

Chaos erupted around them as Jane looked around, startled. She took a few steps back, trying to get out of the way of the movement around her. Weller looked at her intensely – more so than usual – appearing deep in thought. "You're sure?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "That's what it says. I'm sure."

Not three minutes later, the air in the room had changed dramatically. Weller stood at the front by the screens now, the rest of the team in a line behind him.

"So that was right under our nose." He was having trouble hiding his frustration, even though in this circumstance, there was no way that they could logically have known better. Still, he was irritated. Somehow, he felt like they should have picked up on this sooner. _What if they were already too late?_

"Behind her ear, actually," Reade deadpanned, taking a drink of his coffee. Sadly for Reade, his joke was ignored. _Why does no one around here have a sense of humor?_ he thought.

"Does it give us a time?" Weller asked Jane.

"No, just an address and today's date." She wished she could give him more to go on. She almost felt guilty that she couldn't tell him more, as if she had some control over it.

"399 White Street, Apt 7, right in the heart of Chinatown," Patterson read off.

Their on-screen map dropped a red dot over the location that the tattoo indicated.

"Do we know who lives there yet?" Weller asked the room.

"Chao Zheng," Zapata answered. "Transportation Engineer. He's a Chinese national here on an H1B visa. He's doing some work for GE."

"Any flags?" Mayfair asked, having recently joined them.

"No. He's been here three years, spotless record," Reade replied.

"Let's go pay him a visit," Weller ordered. "Patterson, nice work. Keep working on the tattoos."

Weller, Zapata and Reade turned around and started walking to the door, with Jane falling in step behind them. After a few steps Weller realized what was happening and put his arm out in front of her, slowing to a stop.

"Hey," he said, "you have to stay here."

Her eyes widened. "No, _no_ , I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not." Weller didn't have time to argue with her about this. She was a civilian, for God's sake! FBI agents couldn't just take civilians along into the field!

"The clue is on _my_ body, with today's date in a language I speak and you don't. I should be there." She was just as adamant about going as he was about her _not_ going.

"That's not your call," he told her brusquely.

He started to turn to go, but she kept talking, more urgently now as she saw her window of opportunity disappearing.

"What if I'm not just the messenger? What if there's something I'm supposed to hear, or see?" He hated to admit it, but… she might have a point.

Weller glanced at Mayfair, who was standing nearby, listening. She could see both sides of the issue. She had only the highest regard for Weller and his judgement, and she knew that he was making his decision based on the need to keep Jane safe. That being said, though she hated to contradict Weller, she had to admit that Jane might be right.

"Maybe I'll remember something. Maybe he knows me." She couldn't keep the look of desperation off of her face.

Weller wasn't budging, however. "I am _not_ gonna take you out in the field."

Jane was getting angry at Weller's stubbornness. She may not know herself very well, but she knew that she wasn't going to let him talk her out of this. "Am I under arrest?" Her voice was rising as she became more and more frantic.

"No, you're _not_." Weller's frustration level seemed to be rising at the same rate as Jane's.

Mayfair saw that the two were headed for a major confrontation, and decided that it was time to intervene. The pair were just getting angrier with each other and not solving anything. "Look," she said calmly to Jane, "we'd all feel a lot more comfortable if you stayed in protective custody."

But Jane refused to accept this decision. She simply could not sit by while the team rushed off to a situation that could provide her with answers that only she might be able to find. "Well _I_ would feel a lot more comfortable if I could ask this guy why his address is stamped on my head, so unless you are detaining me, _I'm going_."

 _She's completely infuriating,_ Weller thought as he looked at Mayfair, at a loss. His boss nodded her head, eyes closed as she accepted that they were not going to talk this woman out of going along. Considering that it appeared that it would take significant force to _prevent_ her from following them, Mayfair had come to the decision that they may as well let her go. It wasn't as though there was exactly a precedent for this situation. She just hoped that she didn't come to regret the decision.

"Take her with you," she told Weller.

The team looked at her, shocked. Weller was the most surprised of all of them.

Jane turned and walked away from them swiftly, out of the screens room. She'd cleared the first roadblock, but she knew there was a long way to go. She'd discovered one more thing about herself just now: she was _not_ going to be talked out of something once she'd made up her mind.


	11. Jane

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: I swear, I'm not trying to drag this out – I never envisioned that by chapter 11, I'd still be working on the Pilot! There's just SO much material in this episode, and I'm in no rush… well, except that I'm dying to get to all the cuteness that comes the farther into the season we go… okay so I'm a little bit impatient, but I'm going to milk it for all the feels that I can along the way! Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

Their black SUV wove through the streets of Chinatown, and at last it pulled up to the curb outside the building that Patterson had identified based on Jane's translation. Weller climbed out of the driver's side front door, and Jane started to get out of the door behind his. Weller, however, wasn't letting her get any farther. "No, stay in the car," he told her firmly, not in the mood for another argument.

But Jane was ready to put up a fight. "That wasn't the deal," she growled.

"I don't care," Weller shot back at her. "I'm not going to take you upstairs until everything is secure. _Stay in the car_."

Maybe because she had won the first battle of actually getting out into the field, or because he had given her an explanation that made some degree of sense, or maybe it was because the phrase "until everything is secure" implied that she would indeed be allowed to go upstairs, just not yet, but to his surprise and relief she actually leaned back into the seat. She didn't look happy about it, but that was okay with him. Until he knew what they were dealing with, her safety was more important than her happiness.

She could see from Weller's face that she wasn't going to get anywhere by arguing with him this time, so she had agreed to stay in the car, even though she felt like a child who was being punished. She was _definitely_ not happy about it, but she was willing to wait there – at least for now. She cringed slightly as Weller shut the door, leaving her alone with Reade.

"Reade, keep your eyes on her. Don't let her out of your sight," Weller told the other agent. Jane wasn't the only one who wasn't happy with the arrangement, which was obvious because Reade was shooting daggers at her with his eyes. The fact that she now had a babysitter was not lost on her, and she tried not to dwell on the humiliation she felt because of it. It was very hard to accept that she was in the car for her own safety, and not as some sort of punishment.

"Zapata, you're with me," Weller barked, and within seconds the two of them disappeared into the building. Jane watched enviously, trying to remind herself that she wasn't an FBI agent, so it wasn't surprising that they wouldn't allow her on the front lines, no matter what skills she may or may not have. Of course, that didn't mean she had to be happy about it. She scanned the street around them from the window of the SUV as Reade alternated between surveilling the scene and stealing angry glances at her in the rearview mirror.

Inside, Weller and Zapata found apartment seven easily. A young Chinese man with funny looking spiky hair opened the door, and it quickly became apparent that he didn't speak any English. It was obvious that they were not going to get anywhere without Jane, which annoyed Weller beyond measure. Zapata started to mention the fact that they needed Jane's help after all, but stopped mid-sentence when she saw the look on Weller's face. She could see that he already knew that he was about to eat his words. He retreated back down to the car, hoping that Jane wouldn't be too smug about being right after all, but pretty sure that he wouldn't be so lucky.

It had only been a few minutes since Weller and Zapata had gone into the building, but Jane was already restless. It might have something to do with the looks that Reade kept giving her when he thought she wasn't looking, or it might just have been the fact that Weller had made her stay in the car. She didn't know much of anything about herself, but she'd already discovered that she didn't like being told to hang back for her own safety. The longer she sat there, the more anxious she became. She wondered how long it was going to be before Weller came back, because she wasn't sure how long she could handle sitting there, biting her nails and doing nothing.

That was the moment that Weller opened the door, and Jane looked up immediately. As soon as she saw the look on his face she knew exactly why he was there, and she was glad to see him for several reasons. Not only did it mean that she could get out of the car, and that she'd been right – that he _did_ need her there – but besides all that, she was happy that she got the chance to help with the case. She didn't just want to be a burden to the team. She _knew_ that she could help, and the fact that she spoke Chinese gave her a concrete way that she could do that. And then, of course, there was the fact that Weller was there. She just enjoyed seeing the look on his face.

"Forget something?" She looked up at him innocently, so enjoying the knowledge that he needed her, even more so because it seemed to frustrate him. This was clearly not a man who was used to asking people for help unless it was absolutely necessary.

Weller hated that she seemed to be enjoying this moment quite as much as she appeared to be. "Would you please come upstairs with me for a minute, ma'am?"

 _Dammit_ , he thought, _did I really just call her ma'am again?_

"Since you asked so nicely," she smiled at him.

 _I win,_ she thought.

As she climbed out of the car, he gave her half a smile, which was more than she'd seen since first thing that morning.

 _Interesting…_ she thought. _So he's not annoyed with_ _ **me**_ _per se, it's more that he's annoyed because he didn't want to be wrong_.

"Can I come too, or do you wanna roll a window down for me?" Reade had had enough of this assignment already. If he was going to be stuck babysitting Tattoo Girl every time they left the office… well, let's just say he wasn't pleased. As usual, though, he deflected his annoyance with humor. For some reason, sadly, he didn't think anyone was listening to his witty remarks – as usual.

As she climbed out of the SUV, Jane was already looking around at the buildings surrounding them, getting a sense of the area. After all, it was her first time in Chinatown. It was her first time almost _anywhere_. She hurried to follow Weller into the building, eager to help these people who were trying to help her, and even more eager to find some answers.

…

They reached the top of the stairs, finding apartment seven. The door was ajar, and Jane walked hesitantly towards it ahead of the two agents. She glanced over her shoulder at Weller, pausing where she stood. He nodded at her, indicating that she should go in ahead of him. As she stepped through the doorway into the apartment, she was conscious that Weller was close behind her, and she knew that Reade was behind him.

She entered the front room and looked around cautiously, a little nervously, even knowing that Weller and Zapata had already cleared the apartment. As she stepped slowly forward, she felt a small jolt when Weller's right hand landed on the back of her right arm, resting lightly between her elbow and her shoulder. _Does he even realize that he's touching me, or is it come sort of unconscious gesture?_ she wondered. She'd observed his professional demeanor with his team, seen how uncomfortable he'd been when she'd touched his hand and his face in the interrogation room only the day before. Therefore, this came as more than a little bit of a surprise. She dismissed it as some sort of protective gesture that he probably didn't even realize he was doing, as strange as that seemed to her.

However, as they walked towards the adjoining room, where Zapata was standing with the young man who only spoke Chinese, she felt his left hand move to the same position on the back of her left arm – he was now holding onto both of her arms at once – and this made her wonder again. This was harder to dismiss.

She had to admit, she definitely didn't hate it.

If anything, she had to take a deep breath, because her heart suddenly felt like it might beat out of her chest. _Get a grip, Jane_ , she told herself. _It's nothing. You're alone in the world and you're grasping onto the only guy – the only_ _ **person**_ _– you know. He just feels responsible for you. You insisted that he bring you into the field, and now he's worried about your safety. He sees you as a_ _ **liability**_ _, someone he has to protect. That's it. It's a nice gesture, it's cute and all, but it doesn't mean anything._

Despite what the "rational" side of her was saying, the feeling of his hands on her arms, even though she couldn't see his expression while he was holding onto her, gave her the same sensation that she'd had when she'd touched his hand and his face the day before. Warm. Slightly electric. Somehow… familiar, while simultaneously completely foreign. But most of all… _right._ She felt like she shouldn't like it as much as she actually did. She told herself that she was reading _far_ too much into it. Yes, she was definitely reading too much into it.

Whatever the reason, he kept his hands on her arms for a full few seconds as they went through the next doorway into the second room. There, he stepped around her on the right, removing first his right hand, then his left as he walked past her. It annoyed her that she actually felt the absence of his hands' warmth after he had removed them. She willed the thought from her head. They had a job to do. And besides, it was nothing.

He didn't even realize what he'd done until after he had already moved his hands off of her. Despite the fact that he knew that he and Zapata had already cleared the apartment, he couldn't help feeling protective of Jane as they entered together. Maybe he should have gone in first, but because Zapata was already there, because he was bringing Jane up there for a reason and wanted to show that he trusted her, and because he was a gentleman, he told her to go in ahead of him. Had he perhaps been second guessing that decision when he'd apparently decided to hold onto her with both hands, without even realizing it? That crossed a whole bunch of lines and he knew it.

He couldn't even explain it to himself. He hadn't even _realized_ that he'd been holding onto her arms until he had let go of them as they walked into the room where Zapata and the Chinese man were standing. In the seconds while Jane was stepping toward the man, Weller demanded that his hands provide a justification for their actions, but none came. There was no time to dwell on it after that, because the man was providing them information about Chao, and they had to act. His thoughts about his involuntary reactions to Jane would have to wait, but he promised his hands that they had not heard the last of that topic.

Jane took a step forward toward the young Chinese man, who was speaking rapidly, frustrated that no one could understand him. Weller stepped forward beside her as well, motioning toward the man, signaling to Jane to go ahead and figure out what he wanted to tell them. She listened to him, smiling at him kindly, for a minute and then began translating.

"He said he just moved in last week. He hasn't seen Chao since yesterday… Okay, he wants to apologize for letting his student visa lapse. He said… he said he didn't get the forms in time."

Weller wasn't interested in visas, of course. They had a much more pressing problem, and that was finding Chao. He pointed to a padlocked door behind where the man was standing.

"Is that Chao's room?" he asked urgently, despite knowing that the man didn't understand him.

Jane translated the question, more gently than Weller had asked it, and the man replied in Chinese. Before Jane could relay his response, Weller's impatience got the better of him. "Yes? Yes? Or no?" he asked Jane in annoyance.

"Yes," she replied simply.

Weller hurriedly thanked both the confused man and Jane for their help. Then he turned to Jane, extending his hand towards her to signal that they needed to move quickly in the direction of Chao's room. Without a second thought, he uttered one word, one that she heard loud and clear, despite the fact that it came out of his mouth mumbled quietly.

The word was "Jane."

She wasn't sure if he'd actually called her by name back in the screens room before, when her mind had been trying to process the images of so many of her tattoos laid out on huge monitors all at once. It could have been her imagination, because everything had sounded as if she had been under water for a minute or two there. But this time, it was definitely real.

He had called her Jane, for sure this time. She couldn't quite explain, even to herself, why she felt such a difference between Weller calling her "ma'am" or "Jane." _It's just because he's the closest thing you have to a friend, which, by the way, he_ _ **isn't**_ , the cynical voice in her head told her. _But what's the big deal? "Jane" isn't any more your name than "ma'am" is._

The voice had a point. "Jane" wasn't really her name either, and it wasn't as though she hadn't been addressed as Jane already, at least a few times. Her security detail, so far, always called her "ma'am," though she'd tried to get them to stop. They were nice enough, but they were very proper, very official, very professional… all business. So why did she care about what _Weller_ called her? It was just… _different_ coming from Weller. She had to admit that she liked the way it sounded when he called her "Jane."

She wanted to shake herself for being so ridiculous.

As Weller walked purposefully toward Chao's padlocked door, he realized that he had just called her "Jane." Once again, his mind seemed to be working on a slight delay, only catching up after the word had left his mouth. It was doubtful that anyone else would even have noticed what he considered to be such a significant slip, but his mind was screaming at him. He'd only met her _yesterday_. This was unheard of for him – even something as small as calling a subject, an asset, _whatever_ she was to the FBI, by their first name was something that he just didn't do. Though really, he supposed that that was _nothing_ compared to holding onto her with both hands and not even being conscious that he was doing it. He groaned inwardly.

His frustration with himself wasn't about the FBI's regulations. It wasn't that he was acting inappropriately according to his agency. It was just that he had his own set of clear rules in his head, rules that made it possible for him to do his job. Clear lines that he didn't cross, _couldn't_ cross. He could care a lot about the people that he was helping because he knew where the lines were, knew exactly how much of himself he could afford to give to the job before he had to pull back. He did not get emotionally involved in investigations. That much was crucial. It was important to sympathize, even empathize, but there had to be a line. He was _very_ good at finding the line and staying on the correct side of it. Or, he'd always been good at it until now. Until her.

 _Really? We're back to the "remaining professional" crap again?_ his mind demanded. _Didn't you notice that that doesn't seem to work with her?_

 _Alright_ , Weller bargained with himself, _she can be "Jane." That's not a serious breach of the rules. But watch it, Weller, because it's a slippery slope and you know it._ Really, he knew that he didn't stand a chance on this slippery slope, but he wasn't willing to admit it to himself.

He knew what would happen if he let himself get too wrapped up in this case, too focused on whatever it was about _her,_ because it had already happened to him once. When he took a cause too much to heart, when something was too important to him, it swallowed him whole, devoured him and left only an empty shell of his former self. He _couldn't_ let that happen, not again. He'd worked for twenty five years to overcome that very condition, and starting that process again… well, he couldn't bear even the thought of it.

And yet, just glancing in her eyes, seeing a split second flash of recognition, and he knew that she'd noticed that he had called her "Jane." All of his "rules" – not the FBI's regulations for case work, but Kurt Weller's rules for himself – threatened to fly out the window from that glance between them. Because as simple and silly and probably naïve as it was of him, he could tell one thing in that split second. She liked it.

All of these thoughts had exploded in his head in a millisecond, but he recovered quickly, knowing that this was not the time. They had an important job to do, and he had a _lot_ of practice with holding his emotions in check. Surely, he could do a better job than what he was doing now, he told himself reproachfully.

 _Can you?_ the voice in his head asked, clearly not buying it. _Even with her?_


	12. Wait in the Hall

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

Weller turned to Jane, extending his hand towards her to signal… _what exactly was he trying to say_? she wondered. She glanced down at his hand for a second, surprised. In that fraction of a second, a million things went through her head. For some reason, she already had the feeling that his rules for personal space were applied strictly to others, but less so to her, though she wasn't sure why that would be. Why would she be any different?

She felt connected to him, yes, though the voice in her head kept telling her that it was just because he was the only person who'd showed her any real compassion… But maybe it was more than that. And maybe he felt it, too. But no, surely she was imagining it! With all this in her head, she was already a little bit baffled. After all, all of this was new to her. Then he spoke to her, and it just got more confusing.

Without a second thought, instead of calling her "ma'am," as he had done a few minutes before, he called her "Jane" for the first time. At least, it was the first time as far as she could be sure. Though it had come out of his mouth as almost a whisper, when her eyes shot up to his in surprise, she found him looking straight back at her.

 _Of course he's looking at you, stupid, he's talking to you. He's telling you to move your ass. You're done with the Chinese guy, so he wants you to focus on the next task. So what if he called you "Jane?" He has to call you_ _ **something.**_ _Besides, it's not really your name anyway. Why are you getting yourself all worked up?_

There was something in his eyes that she hadn't expected, something like surprise. But… _he_ was the one who'd called her "Jane," so why would _he_ be surprised?

 _Where did that come from?_ he wondered. He didn't feel right calling her "ma'am," of course, but this… well… _the ship has sailed, Weller,_ he told himself. _It's done. She's Jane. It's her name, as much as she has one, anyway. Never mind acting stupidly awkward. Clearly she noticed. So get over it. Move on._

She was doing her best not to let herself read too much into it. _It doesn't mean anything,_ she kept telling herself. But still, she couldn't help but feel like maybe it did, even just a little. There was something about the look he gave her when he watched her. How could it be nothing?

 _You're imagining it,_ she insisted to herself for the millionth time. _Just stop it._

They took a few steps away from the man who they'd just questioned, and Weller encouraged her to look around the main room of the apartment more carefully. "Anything in here… familiar?" he asked encouragingly, his voice soft. He was trying to help her see something, _anything_ , that would help them, using his willpower alone. She looked around slowly, hoping that something around her would trigger a memory. But seconds passed, and nothing happened. "Do you recognize anything?" Weller asked her again, gently. She appreciated the fact that, while she knew that he was really hoping she would find them a lead, he wasn't pushing her, not pressuring her.

Jane looked at the area immediately in front of her, then turned around, scanning the room completely. All she could hear was Weller's words echoing in her head – _"Anything in here… familiar?"_ For a second she almost felt dizzy. She brought her focus quickly back to the items sitting nearby. As she had with Weller in the interrogation room, she tried to see if touching the messy pile of what could have been Chinese paper money would stir any recognition, just gently brushing her fingers through it.

To her disappointment, nothing happened. From the same pile, she picked up a worn photograph of a Chinese man in a striped sweater and reddish jacket with gray sleeves. He had short hair, and he was standing out in public somewhere. She couldn't tell where he was, of course, with no information or context from which to draw. She looked at the picture intensely, trying to make herself remember, to somehow make a connection. Still, nothing came.

Weller watched her intently. He could see her concentrating hard, trying to remember something that may or may not have been there in the first place. He could see that this was difficult for her, and he hated that he was putting so much pressure on her. It was bad enough that he'd had to ask for her help. Hell, he hated that he'd taken her into the field at all, though of course she had been right, he _had_ needed her there, like it or not. Which of course, he did not.

Suddenly, he heard the voice of the Chinese man standing nearby once again, piercing the white noise of police chatter. The man's voice was loud and sharp and it grated on his nerves. Jane's concentration must have been broken by it as well, because she was suddenly looking around again. Weller gritted his teeth in annoyance, still waiting to see if Jane had recognized anything.

"No," she said apologetically. She desperately wanted to recognize something, to be useful to Weller and his team. She _wanted_ to remember something, _anything._ After all, if she couldn't help, there was no reason for her to be here with them. No matter how much she wanted answers for herself, she was only here because she could help the FBI. Their goals were different, and yet also one and the same – to understand what had happened to her, and why, and what it all meant. So far, she still hadn't gotten any answers, and she didn't want to be sent back to the car, or worse, back to the FBI building. She prayed that that was not what was about to happen.

Weller was looking past Jane now, over her shoulder to Zapata, who was standing with the young Chinese man. Even though she clearly didn't understand him, he was trying to talk to her again, to her obvious annoyance. Weller motioned toward the hall with his head. The other agent knew him well and understood the signal – _the civilians need to wait outside_ – and moved towards where Weller and Jane were standing. Jane wasn't going to like this, being removed from the apartment, he knew, but he wasn't really concerned with what she liked or didn't like. He was the lead agent and it was his job to keep her _safe_. They had no idea what they were going to find inside that door that he was about to break down, but there had to be a reason why it was padlocked. Most people did _not_ padlock interior apartment doors.

He looked down at Jane and whispered, "You should go outside." The look in her eyes revealed the panic that instantly flooded her, even before her voice had a chance to betray her. "Just wait outside for a second," he told her, firmly but kindly.

" _No,_ " Jane said, the panic immediately rising in her voice to match her eyes. "No, wait, I…" Agent Zapata was already moving to escort her out. "I should be _in here,_ " she insisted, but to no avail.

"Just wait in the hall," Weller told her. It was absolutely non-negotiable. He knew how much she wanted to be there, how much she wanted to find answers, but she was simply too important to risk anything happening to her. Why couldn't she understand that? It was bad enough that she was there in the first place. Since when did they take assets into the field? It just made things that much more stressful. No, like it or not, she was waiting in the hall.

She hated this, having no control over what was going on around her. She knew that she wasn't an FBI agent, and yet… what if there was something that the others missed, that _she_ would somehow recognize? It went beyond her desire to be helpful, it went to her need for answers. It wasn't just for them. She desperately needed to know what was happening to her, and why.

The Chinese man who she'd helped interrogate wasn't happy about being kicked out into the hall either. He protested to Weller's team as the two were ushered out the apartment door to the hall – not that anyone inside could understand him, or that it would have made any difference if they had. The door was closed behind the two of them as Jane leaned against the wall in frustration. The man beside her was going on and on in Chinese, but she didn't bother to tune in to what he was saying.

When they heard a loud bang from inside a few seconds later, Jane jumped slightly, standing straight up again nervously, hoping that everything inside was alright. She listened hard for other sounds and thankfully, finally, the man who was now standing opposite her in the narrow hallway had fallen quiet. They heard nothing, however, and the waiting was agony. Slumping back against the wall slightly as the seconds passed and no other sounds came from the apartment, she sighed in frustration. She needed to do _something_.

Weller didn't have time to wonder about Jane and how she felt about being out in the hallway. They'd knocked the lock off of Chao's door and discovered the makings of plastique explosives inside. This was _not_ good. In a matter of a short few minutes, Zapata had penetrated the security on Chao's computer and discovered only one video file. It was set to upload on a timer, four hours later. Of course, the video was in Chinese. Weller groaned inwardly. _Perfect_ , he thought.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," Weller sighed as he left the room to retrieve Jane from the hallway. This was possibly the most annoying case ever, merely because he had to keep proving her right. He wasn't looking forward to the smug look on her face when he told her that once again, he needed her help. When he opened the door to the hallway, however, he was greeted by only the Chinese man, who was no more able to tell him what had happened than he had been before. He started to speak rapidly to Weller in Chinese, but upon hearing sounds of trouble from downstairs – grunting, glass breaking, and heavy _thuds_ – Weller cursed under his breath and pushed past the man down the narrow hallway, practically jumping down the stairs. _I asked her to stand out here for two damn minutes_ , he thought angrily. _She is really a pain in my ass._

He began running down the stairs toward the noise, his gun raised. The sounds got louder quickly as he approached the lower floor. Halfway past the landing where the stairs turned, he could see Jane with an older Chinese man in a headlock using a piece of wood, like the handle of a broom or a mop, at his throat.

"Jane! Stop!" Weller yelled, running down the rest of the stairs towards her. She looked up at him from where she was crouched on the floor, standing up slowly. Her eyes were wild, as if she hadn't even known what she had been doing.

"Stop!" Weller said again, and she continued to get up very gradually, releasing the man who lay on the floor in front of her. He took her right forearm in his left hand, gripping it tightly and pulling her away from where she'd stood above the man. Weller still held his gun in his right hand. This time, his touch was far less gentle. He was angry, she could tell.

Jane, on the other hand, was shaking now. Her body had gone into autopilot when the man had attacked her for interfering with beating his wife, and after that she didn't remember very much. She was only now realizing what she had done now that Weller had stopped her from choking the man. _How the hell did all that just happen?_ she wondered, terrified. The way that Weller grabbed her arm told her that he was angry, even though he was not seriously hurting her. Still, she wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of _herself_ at that moment.

He pushed her against the wall. "Stand there!" he ordered her, stepping back toward the two men on the floor. She stood there, wide eyed and shaking, panting. Weller seemed to be satisfied that the men weren't a threat to them, and that they were alive, because he stood up and came back to stand in front of Jane, gun still in his hand. "What happened?" he asked her. His voice wasn't harsh, but it wasn't gentle either. She still couldn't catch her breath.

She couldn't get the words to come out, only sounds. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to block it all out, to get ahold of herself. " _What happened?"_ Weller demanded loudly. It sounded like he was getting angry now, and Jane knew that she had to say something, so she tried to get enough of a grip on herself to explain.

Forcing her eyes open so that she could look at him, she began. "That one," she said, pointing, "was roughing up his wife and then this one," she squeezed her eyes shut again, for just a few seconds as she spoke, then forced herself to open them again as she pointed at the other man on the floor, "came… I don't know. I don't know." She could feel herself shaking, couldn't get any other words – not coherent ones, anyway, to come out.

"Okay," Weller said, trying his hardest to calm down. He didn't want to yell at her, after all. "I asked you to stay upstairs."

"What was I supposed to do? I wanted to help. I…"

"We could've handled that," Weller replied. He didn't sound angry anymore, at least not as much as he had a minute before. It was more… disappointment? She knew that he was upset with her, but she really didn't feel like she'd had a choice. No matter what he'd told her to do, she knew that she'd done the right thing.

 _He didn't really expect me to just let that man beat his wife and do nothing, did he?_

He knew that she'd been trying to do the right thing, as much as it was now another mess for him to clean up. As he tried to calm himself down, he glanced down at hands, which she was holding up in front of her. They were shaking badly. Though he knew that she was scared by what had just happened, it hit him then exactly how badly everything had affected her.

Without even thinking about it, his hands came up to hers, his palms facing up, mirroring the way she held hers, with her palms facing down. His index fingers made contact with the inside of her wrists, his thumbs touched lightly just above the knuckle that connected her pinkies to her hands, and his other three fingers on each hand tickled the skin of her palms. Just a minute before he had been practically screaming in her face and now…

She didn't have anything to compare the touch to except the others from the past few days, of course, all of which had been between the two of them, but in that instant she was convinced that no touch could have possibly been gentler.

He was staring down at her hands when he realized exactly what he was doing, that he had her hands in his. It was the blood on her knuckles and her fingers that did it. _The tattoos on the backs of her hands, those are supposed to be there, but the blood…_ he looked up at her, watched her struggle to take a deep breath, and then she looked up into his eyes.

He had to be feeling it, feeling _something_. She felt her panic begin to subside slowly as she stood there, anchored by his hands under hers and their eyes locked.

To her surprise, he didn't let go right away, but continued to hold her hands in his and stared at her with that intense look again… the one that she kept telling herself was nothing, though she couldn't believe that such a look could _possibly_ not mean something.

 _Shut up!_ she told herself. _You would know this how, exactly? You don't know anything about anything. Stop reading into every look he gives you. You're seeing what you want to see._

But those eyes… how could she _not_ think that it meant something? She stared at him desperately for a few seconds, hoping that she'd somehow find an answer to the questions that she didn't even know how to articulate if she just looked at him hard enough. For some reason, it didn't seem crazy to her to think that it might actually work. Her panic continued to dissipate as they stood there like that, her hands still somehow in his. _He's not letting go_ , she thought in surprise. Not that she wanted him to. Once again, his touch was grounding her, bringing her back from the edge of panic.

Without moving her head, her eyes darted down in the direction of the man lying closest to her on the floor. Lying on the floor because of _her._ She felt a shiver go through her involuntarily as she realized that she had reacted to the men as if on autopilot. Yes, they had attacked _her_ , but she felt as though what had happened next had been totally out of her control, as if someone else had done it all. It was a terrifying feeling. What if she attacked someone else like that, someone who _didn't_ deserve it?

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, sense the panic that flared in her at the thought that she had done something terrible to the men, he told her quickly, "It's fine. He's fine. He's not dead. We'll get him an ambulance."

Her eyes were wide again as the reality of what had happened, what she had done, and it threatened to overtake her. Her breaths were still shaky and he could see that she was far from calm, but he couldn't wait any longer to bring her back to the reality of the case. After all, he'd come out into the hall to find her for a reason. "We found something upstairs," he told her. Then after a short pause, he added, "I need your help." He found that the words didn't taste as bitter on his tongue this time. She didn't look smug about it, either, to his relief. They just stared at each other for a few seconds as she took a few more deep breaths.

She glanced back down at her hands, where still sat loosely in his. Somehow she felt a warmth, almost like a smile that was inside her, from just looking down at their hands like that, though she didn't know if that smile reached her face or not. She closed her eyes and took one more deep breath, when she suddenly felt him squeeze her hands gently. Opening her eyes in surprise, she found that he was still watching her with that same intense look that she couldn't identify.

"You okay?" he asked with concern.

She nodded rapidly, willing herself to calm down. "Yeah," she replied, exhaling. _I am now_ , she added in her head.

"Good. Come on," he told her kindly. He let go of her hands, and she immediately missed their warmth on her skin. However, as they turned toward the stairs to go back up to Chao's apartment, his right hand landed briefly, lightly, on her right shoulder for just a few seconds as they turned. Once again, she had trouble reconciling his actions with the man, the no-nonsense agent, that she observed with everyone else.

Did it really matter, this discrepancy? It didn't seem to be a _bad_ thing, anyway. _Just calm down_ , she told herself. _There's work to do. Worry about the rest of it later._

They headed back up the stairs, Weller following Jane and wondering for the thousandth time what it was about her that made him act like a completely different person around her. But now wasn't the time for such thoughts. Now they had to find Chao.


	13. I Don't Know Yet

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: If there's any Covert Affairs fans out there reading, see if you can find the Easter Egg in this chapter. It's a tiny one. :)_

Jane tried her best to regain her composure as they made their way back up the stairs, but she was still shaken by the fight. _How did I know how to do that?_ she kept asking herself. _What else is going to suddenly pop into my brain_? It seemed reasonable to be unsettled at the sudden knowledge that she had some sort of crazy street fighting skills. She knew that she needed to get her hands to stop shaking, but as she clasped and unclasped them together as she walked, this seemed to be easier said than done.

At the door of Chao's apartment, Weller, ever the gentleman, gestured for Jane to go in in front of him. This time, however, he kept his hands to himself as they entered the main room. She was annoyed with herself to find that she noticed.

 _See?_ she hissed at herself, _It was nothing._

She walked slowly back into the main room and saw that Chao's door, which had been padlocked earlier, stood wide open. She glanced over her shoulder at Weller uncertainly, suddenly slowing to a stop. He took half a step more than she did, which meant that he stopped noticeably closer to her than he had been before, but she was surprised to see that he didn't back off. On the contrary, he didn't look uncomfortable at the proximity, just mildly surprised himself.

His mouth curled up in a tiny movement, in something that almost looked like a smile – or maybe, for Weller, that _was_ a smile – and he nodded toward the now open door almost imperceptibly. She glanced in the direction that he'd nodded, but didn't move immediately.

He noticed that she hesitated to go any farther, even after he'd nodded towards Chao's room. He figured that it probably had something to do with her having been so unceremoniously escorted out earlier, despite her protests. He could understand why she might feel like she was a yoyo hanging at the end of a string, he just hoped that she could understand that he only had her safety in mind.

 _Maybe you could have taken a few seconds to mention that to her rather than just demanding that she leave,_ the voice in his head reprimanded him. He had been told many times that he didn't communicate well with people, and he knew that he was often too stuck inside his own head for anyone else to understand why he did the things he did.

The thought brought back a sudden memory from back when Sawyer was little and only just learning to talk, and Sarah used to constantly tell him "use your words." The expression hadn't been reserved only for her son, however. For a long time, since she was already in the habit, Sarah had frequently said the same thing to Kurt, too. It became a joke in the family, because she said it almost as much to her brother as she did to her son. The joke got old quickly, at least as far as Kurt was concerned. All joking aside, however, he knew that it was something he needed to do more of.

Still, this wasn't a situation where he could reassure her with words. Time was not on their side, and because… well, he just wasn't good with words most of the time. He'd asked for her help already, he didn't know what else to say. Without even realizing what he was doing, once again he reached up his left hand and placed it gently on her left arm just below her shoulder, squeezing only slightly, just enough pressure to communicate what he wanted to tell her. He wasn't sure exactly _what_ he was saying, but he hoped that it equated to something like _I'm sorry about before, please help us out_. And more than that too, but he couldn't even put the rest of it into words in his head. Somehow he just knew that that was the best way to reassure her – or he hoped that it was, anyway.

Jane had managed to break eye contact with Weller and turn back to the scene in front of her slowly, peering cautiously into Chao's room. She tried to suppress a smile at the familiar sensation of his hand on her arm, and even though she didn't turn back toward him, she had a feeling that he could somehow sense her reaction.

As soon as he squeezed her arm, he swore that felt her relax slightly – or maybe it was just his imagination. In any case, she began walking slowly forward again toward Chao's room.

Jane wondered if Weller knew what he was doing, or if he kept putting his hand on her unconsciously. Once again she was confused by his behavior with her in contrast with how he acted with everyone else, but this was not the time to dwell on that. She stepped forward slowly, emboldened by his reassurance. As she anticipated, he dropped her arm just before they reached the doorway, where she could see Reade and Zapata a few feet away, staring at the screen of a laptop as Zapata typed quickly on the keyboard. They both glanced up quickly as Jane and Weller entered the room, then looked back at the screen.

"Ready?" Zapata asked as Jane walked around Reade, coming to stand behind the other woman for the best view. Weller remained on the far side of Reade, watching Jane carefully.

Jane nodded at Zapata quickly, nervously. She didn't doubt that she could speak Chinese, but she felt an incredible amount of pressure to help the team, to find something useful. They needed answers if they were going to stop Chao, but even more than that, she neededanswers for herself. She was still shaking slightly from the confrontation with the men downstairs, but she attempted to steady herself, to focus on the task at hand. Reade, Zapata and Weller were all depending on her, and she had to pull herself together.

"Go ahead," Weller confirmed tersely, and Zapata pressed one more key, starting the video again. Almost immediately, a man's face filled the screen, and he began speaking steadily in Chinese. Jane repeated his words to the team in English, not fully understanding what the message meant, but knowing that, given the situation, it couldn't be good. Weller, Reade and Zapata all alternated between watching the screen and watching Jane seriously, throwing the occasional concerned glance between them.

After hearing the full message translated, they determined that they had three and a half hours to find Chao and stop him from doing whatever it was that he was planning to do with the explosives that they now knew that he had. Whatever it was, his video made it sound like it would be something big.

"Let's go," Weller told the team. He paused on the top landing as they headed back out of the apartment, letting Reade and Zapata start down the stairs first as he hung back beside Jane.

"Good work in there," he said to her quietly, walking beside her and glancing down at her intently as they moved toward the stairs. She shook her head quickly, looking down.

"It's not a big deal," she replied, not meeting his eyes. She was glad that she'd been able to help a little, but she was disappointed that they hadn't found out more. It didn't feel like she'd been able to provide them with much information. They still didn't know what they were looking for, or where in the city _something_ would be rigged to explode. New York City was a _big_ place. She didn't know much about it, but she knew that much.

Besides, what she had done wasn't all _that_ special. Lots of people could speak Chinese, right? She was just the first one they'd had access to, and she'd had to _beg_ to be allowed to come along. As far as the answers she needed for herself, well, she knew that the information she wanted wasn't going to be easy to find, and yet, she was frustrated that they hadn't found out more yet. If anything, she was more frustrated now than she'd been when the day started.

All of this raced through her head in a fraction of a second, as Weller continued to watch her with that look that made her feel like he could see right inside her head to what she was thinking. She hadn't looked up at him, but she didn't need to. She could feel him watching her. Her mouth twitched slightly as she struggled to hide her frustration.

"No, you were right. We needed you here," he said to her as they began descending the stairs. They were walking almost side by side, with Jane walking more hesitantly and therefore one step behind Weller so that when he spoke, turned partway to look at her over his shoulder, they were almost at exactly the same eye level. Jane didn't react to his comment, and he could feel increasing frustration radiating off of her. He wanted to do something to ease her mind.

In one motion he stopped and stepped halfway in front of her, turning around to face her and causing her to stop quickly, almost knocking into him. Her eyes widened in surprise and she leaned back a little, looking at him in confusion. "We're going to find the answers, Jane," he told her. "We _will._ It's just going to take some time." It wasn't an empty promise, either. He was determined to figure this out, no matter how long it took. He was too involved in this mystery _not_ to be hungry for answers. Besides… someone had to fight for her. She may not know it yet, but when Weller got something in his head, there was _nothing_ that could stop him.

She didn't know how he did it, how he read her so well. Maybe it was his FBI training… or could he actually _hear_ her thoughts? She didn't say a word, just gave him a sad, tense smile that she was sure he could see was forced, and nodded, but this time she didn't look away. It was the best she could do. He turned back around and stepped aside, and they started walking again, side by side this time. His words didn't seem to have helped, he noticed.

" _It'll take some time" was not what she wanted to hear, you know,_ the voice in his head reasoned.

He heard her sigh audibly and he could spot her increasing tension as she walked. That was how he knew that he'd hit upon the source of her frustration.

The stairwell suddenly felt suffocating, and all at once she could think of nothing but getting back outside. Either he somehow sensed that was what she was about to do, or he just had really good timing, because in the split second before she had a chance to sprint the rest of the way down the stairs, he reached out his left hand to her right arm, wrapping his fingers securely but gently around the inside of it just above her elbow. It was lower than where he'd held on before, and it definitely felt more intentional than the other times.

It wasn't so much a gesture designed to keep her from "getting away" as it was to get her to stop panicking, to slow down, to remind her that he was there to help. He wasn't sure if she could tell, but he noticed that she didn't struggle against him. If he didn't know better, he'd say she almost leaned into it.

She glanced over her shoulder at him for a brief second and he saw the faintest hint of a smile on her lips, so he was satisfied that she'd gotten the message. Inside he was pleased with himself, but he kept his steely, professional "no-nonsense" look firmly intact on his face. They descended the rest of the stairs to the ground floor this way, his hand on her arm. It remained there as they emerged from the building behind Reade and Zapata and walked across the bustling Chinatown sidewalk to the SUV.

It was a good thing that Weller had kept a hold on her, too, because once outside, Jane suddenly had trouble focusing directly in front of her. Between the loud rushing in her head from her noisy thoughts and the bright and noisy sights and sounds of Chinatown around her that demanded her attention in every direction at once, the short walk across the sidewalk to where their SUV was parked at the curb might have been too much on her own.

The group stopped in front of the SUV as Weller finished briefing Mayfair and Patterson, who were connected to them through their earpieces, on what they knew so far. Jane, of course, not having one of the devices, was hearing only Weller's side of the conversation. As the others listened to Mayfair and then Patterson, Jane peered around at the street, looking up at the buildings around them. Her attention returned to Weller, however, when she heard him tell Mayfair that he wanted everyone who spoke Chinese looking at Chao's emails. Even when Weller repeated the phrase "the Devil's Language" back to Mayfair, at which point Jane somehow knew they were talking about a particularly difficult Chinese dialect, she knew that she could do it. Finally, another task that she could help with!

Jane noticed that Weller didn't look thrilled at the prospect of giving her another assignment when she insisted that she could translate Chao's emails… or maybe it was just her imagination. In any case, she kept insisting that she could help, and this time he only resisted for a moment before he relented. She chose to see this as progress.

Being the genius that she was, Patterson had Chao's location for them almost immediately, and as Jane climbed back into the SUV for the drive to Brooklyn, she felt Weller's hand lightly brush her back for just a second. For the umpteenth time, she wondered at the familiarity and contrast between the way Weller was with everyone else, at least that she had witnessed, and the way he was with her. It was slightly unsettling in a way, but oddly comforting in another.

Reade started the car just as his tablet began vibrating. He reached back and passed the device to Jane from the front seat, where he shifted the car into gear and sped off. Jane wasted no time in opening the emails that were now coming in a deluge, courtesy of Patterson. At first glance, the huge lines of Chinese characters just looked like elaborate drawings, but just like in the screens room, when she looked at them her brain began to process them involuntarily, forming familiar patterns and thoughts that strung themselves together completely without her having to try. It was the strangest thing.

Weller sat beside her in the back seat, watching her. The idea that she hadn't even known that she could speak Chinese until she saw it written, and that it suddenly then came tumbling out of her, complete with English translation, seemed impossible. What else did she know that she didn't realize she knew? This was exactly what they'd hoped would happen. That something would trigger her, make her remember something. Sure, remembering how to speak Chinese wasn't first on the list of things that he'd have hoped that she'd remember, but it certainly was impressive. It had to mean _something_ , didn't it? What else might she remember, given the right conditions? When it came to Jane, his list of questions was almost endless. Maybe _that_ was why he felt the way he felt about her… _however_ that was.

Except that no, it couldn't _just_ be that. Yes, he had plenty of questions about her, but it wasn't the first time that he'd had lots of questions on a case. That was really part of his job, to have questions, and then to find the answers. No, this was different. It wasn't just about the questions. And of course, he knew that this case would be different no matter what. There was no way it _wouldn't_ be different. When a mysterious woman with no memory showed up with his name tattooed on her back, that much became obvious immediately.

And yet still… he watched her pouring over Chao's emails on Reade's tablet with a mixture of anxiety – because so much was riding on her ability to translate them – and something else that he couldn't identify. But he told himself that whatever that other thing was, he needed to put it aside for now. His job as far as she was concerned was to keep her safe and try to get her to come up with anything that would help them, and that's what he would do. He'd figure out whatever else there was to figure out later.

As she read Chao's emails, she could feel Weller watching her. Some of the messages made sense to her and some of them didn't, and she tried to read fast enough to be efficient but not so fast that she missed something important. Not that she _knew_ what would be important. Her heart was hammering in her chest with anxiety, faster and faster the more she thought about it. _What if I can't do this?_ she thought suddenly. _What if I miss something important and we miss the deadline, and it's all my fault_?

She looked up from the tablet and out the window for a second and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. _I can do this_ , she told herself firmly.

"How're you holding up?" Weller's voice brought her back from the chaos of her thoughts.

She glanced up in Weller's direction just for a second, and found him watching her carefully, with that same steady, intense look that she saw whenever he looked at her. It was calming and terrifying at the same time to imagine that he could see right into her head, see her thoughts.

Not wanting him to see the apprehension in her eyes, she quickly looked back down at the tablet. She knew she probably wasn't hiding it very well anyway, but it was worth a shot.

"I don't know, I…" she looked back up at him for a second as she spoke, hoping desperately to see some kind of reassurance. "…I don't really have a frame of reference."

His question made her anxious, because it forced her to admit that she had no idea what she was feeling. She'd been feeling this way – whatever the name was for it, it wasn't _calm_ – or at times even _more_ anxious and freaked out, for literally as long as she could remember, after all.

At the same time, the fact that he'd asked her even such a simple question made her feel something else that was harder to identify. He seemed to genuinely _care_ how she was doing, or it seemed to her that he did. Everyone else just wanted to study her, or at least that was how it felt. Around Weller, she got to be a human being. It was all so confusing, all the things that were swirling around in her head.

Her gaze landed somewhere in the distance and he realized just how difficult this all must be for her. Just when he thought he could empathize, or at least understand what she was going through, he was reminded that she didn't even have past experiences to compare this all to. It was brand new, and she didn't know how to process it. He couldn't imagine how hard it must be for her.

"If someone wanted to stop Chao, why not just call you? Why did they have to tattoo it on my body?" It was a reasonable question.

"I don't know yet," Weller replied seriously, glancing at her and then ahead of them. "But Chao trusted someone, and they sold him out. So we find _him,_ take him alive, he'll have some answers for us."

But Jane couldn't get the fight out of her head. "How do I know how to do all this? The Chinese, the fighting…"

He looked back at her, his voice calm. She couldn't explain why, but his voice was soothing to her, even if he had no answers to give her, even while his _words_ left her unsettled. "A lot of people know martial arts, but what I just saw? You don't learn that at a local dojo."

She looked away from him, down in front of her. "So is that why they chose me?" She looked back up, desperate for answers that she knew that he couldn't give her. "Because of what I can do?" He watched her silently, knowing that she was thinking aloud, that she knew he didn't have answers to any of her questions. "Why me?" she asked.

"I don't know yet, Jane," he told her simply, wishing with everything inside him that he could tell her something, _anything_ that would ease her mind.

Weller's answer didn't surprise her, and yet as she looked away from him, she felt the weight of reality crushing her. It showed on her face, and Weller watched her silently, hating that there was nothing he could do to help.

"We're in the zone," Reade announced from the front seat, meaning that they were within a few hundred feet – the most precision Patterson's tracking could achieve in this case – of Chao's phone signal.

And just like that, it was time for action once again.


	14. By My Side

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

This time is was Zapata's turn to babysit, and she was _not_ pleased.

Jane hadn't even asked Weller to be allowed to go down into the subway with him after Chao. She was still a bit shaken up from the incident back at the apartment building, and she knew what Weller's answer would be anyway. He hadn't even wanted to take her into a situation where there was a minimal chanceof a confrontation – and then she'd proven his instincts correct by getting into a fight as soon as she'd been left alone. Of course, her actions had been justified as far as she was concerned, but that wasn't the point.

All she _had_ asked as Weller and Reade had gotten out of the SUV was that they take Chao alive, so that he could give them answers. Of course, that wasn't a promise that Weller could make, but he'd said they'd do their best. She tried to calm her nerves, but of course, she had no idea how to do that.

Now alone in the car with Zapata, Jane could almost feel the hostility radiating off of her from the front seat. She could tell that this wasn't a woman who found being stuck in a support capacity anywhere near acceptable. The look on the agent's face when Weller had told her to "keep an eye on Jane" had said it all. She was _pissed_. Jane supposed that in her place, she probably would have been, too, and now in addition to everything else, she was feeling guilty about being a burden on the team. The guilt heaped on top of her existing frustration, confusion, anxiety – and all the rest of the emotions that she couldn't even identify – was a lot to take. It was hard _not_ to feel like a mess.

In the back seat, Jane fidgeted with her hands in her lap, alternating between staring at them and out the window, not sure what to do about the uncomfortable silence that had descended since Weller and Reade had left them only minutes before. As far as she was concerned, sitting here and doing nothing was worse than walking into an unknown situation, no matter how dangerous. At least then she'd be _doing_ something.

"I'm sorry," Jane mumbled, "you should be down there with them."

Zapata snorted slightly in agreement before turning around in her seat to look at her. "Yeah, well, I guess it was my turn to…" the words had already tumbled out of her mouth before she looked up and saw the guilt on other woman's face. She trailed off before finishing her sentence, her desire to make a sarcastic remark dying on her lips when she saw Jane's expression.

"Babysit me," Jane finished for her.

Zapata blushed slightly, shaking her head quickly. "No, I mean…"

Jane tilted her head slightly and sighed, glancing down and then back up at Zapata. "I didn't realize that my being in the field was going to be so much trouble for everyone… I just want to _help_. I know I can." She thought for a second, knowing that her motives weren't solely altruistic. "And I just… _really_ need answers." Jane looked away then, her eyes darting around anywhere but at Zapata, her face clouding over with desperation. After a few seconds, however, Jane couldn't help but look back up at her.

Zapata's face softened a little bit. Jane's eyes were pleading for her to understand, and she couldn't help but feel bad for the mystery woman in front of her. Yes, she was stuck sitting in the car while Weller and Reade were out chasing Chao… because of Jane. But then again, they never would have known that Chao existed, probably until it was too late, if it hadn't been for Jane. The fact that they even had a chance to stop him from whatever it was that he had planned was thanks to the woman that she was now "babysitting." She was here _because_ of her, but that was both a curse and a blessing. None of this was Jane's fault, Zapata reminded herself rationally, and it allowed them a shot to stop something terrible from happening. As much as she _wanted_ to blame her, she couldn't. Though it pissed her off, she knew it was the truth.

"I know," Zapata said, her tone suddenly mellowing to match the expression on her face. "We'll… figure it out." If Jane didn't know better, she'd have said that Zapata was almost smiling at her. _Almost_. Jane felt very self-conscious under Zapata's scrutiny, but was saved from the situation as a group of rowdy teenagers passed by the car, yelling something unintelligible, which made both women glance out the window momentarily.

It was quiet again as the teenagers moved along the sidewalk, and Jane returned to Chao's emails. There _had_ to be something in them that would tell her something useful. Zapata continued to scan the area outside for anything suspicious. The silence in the car was now much less uncomfortable than it had been at first.

However, it wasn't long before they heard a rumbling that sounded like it came from underground, almost as if the Earth was growling. Jane and Zapata both snapped to attention, first looking at each other in surprise and concern, and then scanning the area outside, attempting to figure out what had just happened. "That sounded like… an explosion," Zapata murmured, opening the door of the car and stepping outside for a better look.

Of course, there was no way Jane was staying in the car. She jumped out only seconds after Zapata, and the two stood on the sidewalk, looking around. Within no more than a minute, people began stumbling up the stairs from the subway entrance looking visibly distraught.

Jane glanced at Zapata, worry written all over her face. "Do you think…?" she began, but found that she couldn't finish her sentence. Zapata saw how wide her eyes were, and remembered that they didn't know whether Jane had ever had training in what to do in a crisis. If she had, she didn't seem to remember it.

Zapata shook her head. "We wait here, watch for Chao, or for anything else out of the ordinary, unless we hear otherwise," she told Jane, forcing herself to remain calm. She'd been in much more dangerous situations than this in her career, both with the FBI and the NYPD, and she knew that the key was not to panic. After all, if you lost your head, you couldn't make rational decisions.

They waited by the SUV, pacing a small area of the sidewalk as they scanned for clues to what had happened, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the subway entrance. What felt like an unreasonably long time later, they saw Weller and Reade emerge from underground. Weller was filthy and disheveled, there was blood on his right ear, and was carrying himself stiffly, as though he was sore. The two women jogged over to meet them, unnerved over Weller's appearance and noticing the obvious absence of Chao.

As they regrouped and traded information, it took them only a few minutes to determine, between what had happened in the subway and what Jane had learned from Chao's emails, that Chao's target was much bigger than the subway. That had been his way of getting Weller and Reade off of his tail, but what he was actually planning was, they were fairly sure, to blow up the Statue of Liberty. The team ran for the SUV, knowing that time was now of the essence.

…

They were en route to the boat that would take them to Liberty Island, where the Statue of Liberty stands and watches over New York City, and the air in the car was highly charged. Weller had Mayfair on speaker so they could all listen in, his com having been damaged in the explosion. Jane was listening as the agents moved from one piece of information to the next rapidly, alternating between watching them and staring out the window. Everything was suddenly moving so fast, and this definitely wasn't a situation she was comfortable in. Then again, she couldn't remember _any_ situation that she was actually comfortable in so far.

Her anxiety only increased when Mayfair asked Weller to take her off of speaker phone. That could only mean they were talking about her. Surely anything case related would be relayed to the whole team? She took a deep breath and told herself to hold it together. There was too much at stake. Still, she couldn't help but feel like she'd been punched in the gut when Weller looked at her appraisingly and said "That would explain a few things."

 _ **What**_ _would explain a few things? And w_ _ **hat**_ _things? What weren't they telling her?_

The rest of Weller's call with Mayfair mainly consisted of him listening and replying with, "okay" or "mmm-hmm," his eyes darting between straight ahead and out the window, not resting on her again. He hung up shortly afterwards.

They drove the rest of the way in tense silence, all four of them lost in their own thoughts and staring out the windows. There was nothing else they could do until they got there. Weller looked like he wanted to say something at one point, but he seemed to think better of it. Jane wanted to scream in frustration, but didn't actually know what she wanted to scream _about_. Then again, she realized, it seemed like she was spending a lot of time feeling that way.

When they arrived at the waterfront to board the ferry to Liberty Island, everyone jumped out of the car, slamming the doors behind them. Once again, Weller doubled back toward Jane. "Hey, what are you doing? Jane, get back in the car." He pointed back at the SUV.

 _Was he_ _ **serious**_ _?_

She began speaking even before he'd finished, however. "No, I'm coming with you." The wind whipped around them as defiantly as their words lashed at each other.

Looking directly at her, he raised his voice and exclaimed, "No, you're _not_!" He was really starting to get tired of her bullshit. _Doesn't she understand that this is_ _ **dangerous**_ _? That she can get hurt out here?_ he thought irritably. He glanced back at the SUV, reiterating, "You stay _here_ ," then looked back at her.

But Jane was having none of Weller's _stay in the car_ crap, not this time. She could help, and she knew it, even if he didn't. "I saw the map on Zapata's tablet. Liberty Island is fourteen acres. You have _three_ agents. You need another set of eyes." Weller glanced across the water at their destination, realizing that Jane had a point. They didn't have time to wait for backup. Even with the assistance of the police who were already on the scene, their task was daunting at best. They really _did_ need all the help they could get.

"I can't let that man kill a bunch of innocent people," Jane added. "And if he knows anything about what's going on, about who I am…"

Weller looked at the blood still on her lip from the fight at Chao's apartment building, thinking about how easy it would be for something to happen to her. How easy it would be for her to get into a situation in which he couldn't protect her. This was a bad idea, he _knew_ it was… but then, there was the pleading in her voice and on her face. " _Please_. You _know_ I can help." Weller could see how desperate she was to help, and he knew that she wasn't exactly a woman who couldn't defend herself… and they did _need_ the help…

Of course, this didn't change the fact that charging into this situation would be putting Jane into _danger_ , and Weller was far from comfortable with that. On the contrary, as Jane pleaded her case, Weller continued to fight her insistence that they needed her help, arguing both sides in his head for precious seconds that they couldn't afford to waste. It was his call…

Finally, he gave in, though he didn't like it whatsoever. Without another word, he walked away from her, back towards the SUV.

Jane watched desperately as an angry looking Weller stalked back towards the SUV and opened the passenger side front door. _What was he doing?_ She assumed that she'd failed in her attempt to convince him to bring her along, and her hands began clenching in frustration. _What else can I possibly say to make him understand_? she wondered frantically. When he turned around and marched back from the car, however, he was carrying a bullet-proof vest emblazoned with "FBI" in bold, yellow letters across the front.

 _I changed his mind_ , she thought in awe, relief washing away some of her frustration, as he came to a stop in front of her.

"Arms up," he instructed her. She did as she was asked, leaning forward so that he could slip the vest over her head. Before either of them moved, he looked her square in the eyes, his face even more serious than she'd seen it so far.

"You _stay_ by my side," he ordered through gritted teeth. He couldn't stand being put in this position, and the thought of losing her threatened to derail the even, rational demeanor that he had spent his career perfecting. He simply couldn't let anything happen to her, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly why his reaction was so intense. Even _he_ could recognize that she brought out a far more protective instinct in him than any other asset… subject… victim… _whatever she was_ to this case. To them. To _him_. He had always prided himself on his cool detachment at work, but with her… he didn't seem to have much control over his emotions at all, and it unnerved him.

"Okay," she replied quietly. She didn't mind that condition. After all, she had no allusions about them sending her off on her own, no matter how helpful they thought she might be. Especially after what had happened in Chao's building. So sticking with Weller wasn't so bad. On the contrary, of the three agents, he was by far the one who she felt most comfortable with. The most important thing was that she was going to get the chance to help them find Chao. To find _answers._

He was relieved that she immediately agreed to stick close by him. Of course, it didn't guarantee that she would do so, or that she wouldn't still be in danger, only that he _should_ have the opportunity to protect her. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep her safe.

Just then, the boat pulled up to the short concrete ramp that served as a boarding area. The boat was smaller than Jane was expecting. She'd known that they'd be sailing across to the island after hearing Weller say so to Mayfair, though she really hadn't had time to think about what kind of boats were used to shuttle people back and forth. One at a time, the team took one large step each from the land to the deck of the boat. All she noticed was how it seemed to sway in the waves, and how Reade, and then Zapata, also seemed to sway as they climbed onboard first. Anxiety clenched her stomach and she moved toward the boat behind Weller.

Jane stepped across the gap last, and lost her balance almost immediately as she felt the sensation of rocking beneath her feet. She reached out instinctively for something, _anything_ , to grab on to before she toppled over. Weller happened to glance over his shoulder at her at that moment, and thanks to his sharp reflexes he reached out his hand just in time to catch her by the forearm before she ended up on the floor, or worse, in the water.

As Weller stopped her fall by quickly catching her arm, Jane instinctively also grabbed onto him with her other hand. Considering how fast it had all happened, he was impressed with how firm her grip on him was. Her face reflected complete confusion and a hint of panic, but Weller just smiled at her, knowing exactly what had just happened. "You okay?" he asked her sympathetically.

"I, um… wasn't expecting it to feel so… different… on the boat," she answered, obviously still shaken.

 _Poor Jane. For her it's like it's her first time on a boat, whether it actually is or not._ He found it somewhat… endearing, and he had to fight to keep a relatively serious look on his face.

"The expression people use for this situation is, "You don't have your sea legs yet," he told her, smiling just slightly. Jane grimaced. She was trying to hide her discomfort, and she was also a little thrown off by the sudden contact from Weller. After all, he was still holding on to her, even now that her rather spectacular fall was over. It was a good thing he was, however, because she wasn't yet sure that she was going to remain upright on her own.

She nodded slightly at him, not looking as though she was at all comfortable with the reality of being on a boat. Zapata watched her sympathetically from not far away, while Reade looked back from the front of the group, not trying very hard to hide his annoyance as he rolled his eyes.

"Do you want to sit down?" Weller asked her, gesturing to some benches inside the enclosed middle of the boat.

She wanted nothing more than to sit down at that moment, or better yet, to be back on land, but she was fighting with everything inside her to remain standing. After all, if she wasn't useful to the team, she'd be sent back to headquarters. It had only taken her the first few seconds on that boat to know that she _hated_ that mode of transportation, but she was determined to be strong for as long as she could.

"No, I'm… fine," Jane insisted, her tense expression telling him that she was anything but fine. The engine rumbled to life then, and the team remained where they were at the front of the boat, where they'd boarded, as it reversed away from the shore and then turned around to face the headwind as they surged forward across the open water toward the Island.

Weller didn't have to wonder how Jane was feeling about the ride, because the fingernails that continued to dig into his skin through the sleeves of his jacket gave him a good idea. They moved out into the waves and he felt her flinch several times as the boat pitched in the waves, which only made him tighten his hold on her.

She noticed the slight increase of pressure on her arm. "You okay?" Weller asked her under his breath. Without looking at him, she just nodded her head slightly, which he understood perfectly. It meant _No_ , even if she'd meant it as a _Yes._

He felt her slowly release her grip on his arm as she attempted to get her balance, but he continued to hold onto hers, still unsure that she wouldn't fall again. Slowly, he walked her forward a few steps so that she was near the railing that went around the front of the deck so that she had something to hold on to, just as the others were doing.

As she tentatively removed her hand from his arm completely, she looked up at him in embarrassment, and then transferred her tight grip to the pole of the railing as they bounced through the waves that were so stirred up by the wind. When he saw that she had a grip on the pole, he let go of her arm as well.

Her mouth formed a tight line that was almost a smile, and she looked back at him and nodded a "thank you," at once grateful for the solid metal to hold onto, but also slightly disappointed that it meant that there was no reason for him to keep hold of her arm.

 _Breathe_ , she told herself as she peered across the water toward Liberty Island. She had a feeling that this would actually be the _easy_ part of chasing down Chao… and she would soon find out that she was right.


	15. Spiraling Skyward

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

It had all happened so fast.

As promised, Jane had been right behind Weller every step of the way, from the time they stepped off of that damned boat. Weller had assigned Zapata to canvas the crowd and Reade to check the perimeter, and he and Jane had headed for the statute. When they reached the entrance, Weller noted that the door stood halfway ajar. The sign on the wall beside it said Park Personnel Only, and he had a feeling that the door was usually kept locked to prevent exactly what they were here to stop: people with the intention of threatening harm to such an important national landmark. Surely it was highly unusual for the door to have been left _wide open_... It didn't _necessarily_ mean anything, of course, but it was another very good reason to stay alert.

Entering the building, he raised his gun in front of him and looked back at Jane over his shoulder, to be sure she was there. Once again she was only one step behind him and one step to the left, where she could see over his shoulder. He could also keep track of her most easily in his peripheral vision that way. She nodded at him, the look on her face telling him that she was ready and alert, and that she found the situation just as suspicious as he did. The silence inside the structure was a stark contrast to the blaring alarm that sounded outside, echoing across the island, as they wandered the maze of narrow, musty hallways below the Statue of Liberty.

They hadn't even made it off of the ground floor yet when they came across a lone man in a park ranger's uniform, crouching behind a wide pole not far ahead, his back to them. "Ranger, I'm with the FBI," Weller called out. Within a fraction of a second, the man suddenly turned and stood, now facing them and pointing a gun in their direction.

That was when time seemed to stand still, at least for Jane, as recognition flashed through her like lightning. It was definitely Chao.

 _Finding him was easier than I expected_ , she thought, just before the air in the hallway rang with the sound of gunshots _._

The only thing that Weller had time to do by the time he realized what was happening was to duck. Jane, however, had no such reflex. The next thing he knew, Weller heard the loud _crack_ of three gunshots and Jane had fallen to the ground beside him.

 _Dammit!_ he thought a split second later. _Of course she didn't have the reflex to move. I should have grabbed her out of the way._ But that didn't help either of them now.

She felt a sharp pain rip through her as the noise rang in her ears over and over. Rolling onto her side, Jane gasped in pain. Weller crouched down beside her as she lay on her back, trying to determine where she'd been hit in only a second's glance. He aimed at Chao and fired several shots in return as the other man ran up the circular, metal staircase at the end of the hall, where multiple corridors converged into a column in the middle of the statue.

Jane was panicking, grunting in pain as Weller struggled to determine the extent of her injury. With his gun still held in the air in his right hand, pointed toward the hallway where Chao had been a minute ago, he attempted to hold her still with his left hand as she squirmed on the ground beside him. "Jane! Give me a look. _Give me a look_!" Upon closer inspection, it appeared that she'd been hit below her right shoulder. "You've been hit," he told her urgently.

 _Either Chao wasn't trying to seriously injure her, or he wasn't a very good shot_ , Weller decided. _It could have been much worse._

"I'm ok. I'm ok," Jane repeated insistently, putting her hand over the area where she was already bleeding.

"Keep pressure on that wound," Weller mumbled.

"I think I'm okay," Jane repeated. It wasn't clear whether she was saying it more for his benefit, or to convince herself. After all, she certainly didn't remember ever having been shot before, and as non-life threatening as it was, it still hurt like hell.

Weller was already standing halfway up, conflicted. Jane wasn't seriously injured and he knew that he needed to chase Chao, but at the same time he didn't want to just leave her there alone. He hated that he hadn't been able to protect her. After all, he'd made her swear that she'd stay by his side so that she'd be _safe_ , and he'd walked her straight into danger. Guilt was already welling up inside him. But there was no time for that now.

"Keep pressure on that," he repeated again, more firmly this time, as he stood up.

Jane could see what Weller was thinking without being told. "Just _go,_ " she moaned. "Go get him."

While she wasn't excited about being left behind, she knew that it was the only way they were going to have even a hope to apprehend Chao, and the only way they would possibly get to the answers she so desperately needed. As Weller took off down the hall after Chao, she gripped her wounded arm with her left hand, willing herself to stop feeling the burning sting of the bullet's damage.

"I'm in pursuit of the suspect," Jane heard Weller bark into his com through the fog of pain, "He's dressed as a Park Ranger." She heard his footsteps echoing down the hall, becoming fainter, then the clang on his feet against the metal stairs, once again growing fainter as he climbed.

She rolled onto her side, clutching her right arm as hard as she could, breathing hard and telling herself that it didn't hurt. It was a lie, of course, because it hurt worse than any physical pain that she could remember ever feeling – not that there was much for her to compare it to. It was, however, not the worst pain she had felt. No, since she'd come out of that bag in Times Square a few days ago – had it _really_ only been a few days? – she'd felt mental pain that was _far_ worse than this. There was nothing like extreme emotional distress to put everything in perspective, and she just had a feeling that she'd had some kind of rigorous training at some point that was now allowing her to focus on something other than the pain. She heard an echo from somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind… something about pain… something about… a dream? No, that didn't make sense. It was as though she couldn't quite make out the words or make them make sense.

Ordering her mind to stop thinking about her arm, she pushed herself to sit up. Panting and sweating from the exertion, she managed to get herself into a sitting position. She was still breathing much too fast, she knew, and she tried hard to quiet her racing thoughts and focus on what she needed to do. _Weller is up there with Chao_ , she reminded herself. _I have to get up there. I have to help him. What if something happens and Weller can't take him alive? I'll never get the answers I need. What if Weller needs backup? What if… what if Chao shoots_ _ **Weller**_ _, too…? Then I've lost my chance for answers and possibly my only real ally, too._

They were all chilling thoughts, but the last one left an especially bad taste in her mouth, though she wasn't quite sure why. She only knew that there was something about him that she couldn't bear the thought of losing, even if she didn't understand what it was or why.

After sitting up for a moment and mentally preparing herself, she decided that it was time to try to get the rest of the way up. Breathing deeply and then psyching herself up for another sharp pain in her arm, she removed her left hand from her right arm and pushed it against the floor, trying to push herself up to stand by leaning her weight against the wall as a counterbalance.

Pain immediately shot through her right arm as her body detected the change in pressure on her wound, and blood flowed from it as well. _How can something so small let so much blood out?_ she thought as she stared at it, falling back down to a sitting position, momentarily becoming distracted from pushing herself up. This was clearly going to take more concentration than standing up usually did. She grabbed the spot on her right arm again, reapplying pressure while she once again took quick, deep breaths, gathering the determination to try once again to push herself up.

 _I have to do this_ , she told herself. _I have to get to Weller_. It wasn't even a question. Though she wasn't sure what she'd be able to do to help him in her condition, she _had_ to try. There was no way she'd ever forgive herself if she was somehow the reason why Chao got away, or the reason that something happened to either one of them. She couldn't stand the idea that anything might happen to Chao before he could answer her questions. She couldn't stand the idea that anything might happen to Weller, period.

With strength that she hadn't known she possessed, she pushed herself up, groaning in pain. Once she was on her feet, she stood still for just an instant as she caught her breath, her heart pounding. She made her way to the end of the hall, where the building opened up to the metal staircase in the center that spiraled skyward. From where she stood, it appeared to go on forever. Setting her face in a determined scowl, she began climbing the stairs – fast enough that she had some sort of hope of making it to the top and still be of some help to Weller, but slow enough that she wouldn't pass out from the exertion combined with blood loss. At least… she _hoped_ that she wouldn't pass out.

After climbing for what felt like forever, she could tell that she was nearing the top of the stairs. Finally, she could actually see where the stairs ceased to go any higher, and more disturbingly, she could hear the sounds of a struggle coming from above her. She renewed her effort to make it quickly to the top as quietly as possible, pushing the throbbing pain she felt in her arm from her mind. Truth be told, she'd been working to do so the whole time she'd been climbing the steps, and by this point, the pain in her arm felt much duller and farther away than it had at first. It was almost as though this was all happening in some sort of terrible dream, just like pretty much everything else that she could remember since she'd woken up in Times Square.

One of the first things she saw as the platform at the top of the stairs came into view was Weller's gun, which had been knocked away from him in the scuffle with Chao. The second thing she saw was that Chao had his arm around Weller's neck, a knife to his throat. Weller was fighting back, hitting Chao in the midsection with his elbows, but it didn't seem to be having enough of an effect. Chao still had Weller at a definite disadvantage, and Jane knew that she had to do something, and fast.

Weller's gun wasn't too far away, and she crouched her body against the platform, stretching out her left arm, slowly and carefully, to try to reach it without Chao seeing her. As luck would have it – hers, not Weller's – Chao was too busy holding Weller with a knife to his neck to notice that they now had company. Once she had the gun, she stood up quietly on the platform, still without being noticed. She didn't wait to catch her breath – Chao now had Weller on his knees in front of the railing, the knife poised at his throat. Without a second thought, despite having been shot in her right arm, she somehow found the strength to raise the gun in her right hand, high in the air, firing at the ceiling to get Chao's attention. Suddenly, it was deathly quiet except for the echo of the gunshot.

Lowering the gun to point it in Chao's direction, her arm balanced on the railing around the platform for support, she looked at the two men across the cavernous expanse of the staircase from her. Weller's arms were in the air in surrender – though he was undoubtedly just waiting for his chance to move on Chao, knowing Weller. Chao had a sickening smile on his face, knowing that he held an FBI agent's life in his hands and there was nothing that this woman, whoever she was, could do about it.

At least, he _thought_ there was nothing she could do about it.

"I'll kill him," Chao threatened menacingly. "Drop the gun, or I'll kill him."

 _Obviously she wouldn't shoot me with her partner in the line of fire. That would be stupid,_ Chao told himself – in Chinese, of course.

"She's not going to do that, Chao," Weller replied calmly before Jane had a chance to think of a response. Jane just looked on, wide eyed and terrified, still holding the gun surprisingly steadily, unsure of what the right thing to do in the situation was. Weller sounded as though he was talking to Chao over the phone – not even a hint of anxiety, despite the very real danger that he was in at that moment.

Jane tried not to think about what could easily happen right in front of her if Chao were to squeeze just a little harder with the knife at Weller's throat...

 _You're going to have to shoot him. You know that, right?_ she asked herself.

 _But what if I hit Weller?_ she demanded frantically.

"Drop it," Chao growled, drawing out his last word.

"You kill me, she has to kill you," Weller reminded him, trying to stall long enough to allow Jane to take the shot. Somehow he just _knew_ that she'd be able to make it, despite how unlikely it might have seemed to anyone else – herself included. Or at least, considering that his life was on the line, he _really, really hoped_ that she could make the shot.

"Weller…" Jane started, her voice an octave lower than usual. _What is he thinking?_ she wanted to scream. _I could hit_ _ **him**_ **.** _I can't… I just can't…_

 _But maybe you can_ , came a voice from deep inside. _Besides, you don't have much of a choice. You can't just let Chao kill him._

"Chao, listen to me. This is no way to honor your mother…" Weller protested. Chao pushed the blade a little harder against Weller's neck then, but not hard enough or at the right angle that it punctured his skin.

"It's too late. There's no going back now," Chao hissed in reply, his voice ragged. He was watching Jane with the menacing look of someone who had absolutely nothing to lose, almost daring her to try something.

Jane couldn't help but feel like she was looking into the face of evil itself. _He couldn't always have been like this_ , she thought to herself. _How does a person get to this point?_ But this was a question for another time.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, lowering her head as, for just a second, doubt surged through her. But she recovered, telling herself, _You have to shoot Chao. Not kill him. Just shoot him so that he can't kill Weller. You have to._ She repeated it over and over in her head, but it still seemed impossible. After all, she'd never forgive herself if she shot Weller instead. How could she be sure that her aim wouldn't be off? Did she even _know_ how to shoot?

Her eyes opened to see Chao's menacing stare and Weller's face beside him. He was relying on her. She couldn't let him down. And yet…

"I don't know if I c… can." She could barely get the words out. How could she possibly do this?

Weller just nodded at her once. There was no question in his eyes, the way there was in hers. _He believes that you can do it_ , she told herself. _He's depending on you. You_ _ **can.**_ _Just do it._

She looked one more time at the knife at Weller's throat, at Chao's face, his smug expression making her stomach turn. Once more, she looked at Weller, at the certainty in his eyes. There was no choice. She _had_ to. Screwing up her face in determination as she steadied her arm to take the shot, she took one more second to breathe out, blocking out all of the noise in her head that told her that she couldn't do it, and squeezed the trigger twice.

The two bullets hit Chao in the right shoulder, and within seconds he was falling to the metal platform with a groan behind Weller. It took only seconds for what she had done to register in her brain, and as soon as it did, she began to falter, the adrenaline that had kept her moving ever since Weller had taken off after Chao now all but evaporating from her body. The full weight of what had happened in the past few minutes suddenly hit her, and she found that she could no longer stand. She sank towards the platform, gripping the railing tightly for support, fighting to remain partially upright.

A few steps away from her, Weller checked on Chao, who was alive but now subdued, glaring at Weller murderously as Weller took away the knife that had been at his throat a moment before, the gun with which he had shot Jane, and made sure that he had no other weapons. As Jane sank slowly towards the floor, black and white images suddenly flashed before her eyes.

 _A makeshift shooting range in the woods. Snow all around them. She saw herself – with longer hair and no tattoos, but definitely her – shooting confidently at targets that were no more than shapes cut out of metal and hung from some sort of string. The snow crunched under her feet as she attempted to hit them while walking._

 _Suddenly, a bearded man was standing beside her, his face showing clear displeasure. "You missed two," he told her matter-of-factly. "Do it again." In this strange vision, she looked straight ahead, seeing him only in her peripheral vision, though she saw the scene unfold in her head from the front, seeing both of them as if she was someone else watching them. She watched herself breathing hard from the exertion of what she had just done, straining to contain the frustration of being told to repeat the exercise. Obviously this man had some sort of power in the situation, because she couldn't help but think that she looked pissed off at him for demanding that she repeat it, and yet, she said nothing in protest._

It was eerie to watch yourself that way. She struggled to recognize this man, but could find nothing about him familiar. He had dark hair, medium length but longer in back, a good deal more facial hair than Weller and thick eyebrows to match. Whoever he was, he did not seem impressed with her shooting. She felt herself falling, almost dizzy, as she tried to place this strange memory.

"I remember something," she whispered, her own voice beginning to pull her away from the black and white memory, if that was what it actually was. Suddenly, she was back on the platform at the top of the Statue of Liberty, and her words came out louder this time. "I remember something."

Weller, having taken away Chao's weapons and assessed his condition – which he concluded was "wounded and pissed off, but no longer a danger" – took the few quick steps that separated them just as she fell to her knees, no longer able to hold herself up.

 _She saved my life_ , he thought as he leaned over her protectively, putting his left arm around her and pulling her gently toward him, all the while training his gun on Chao so that he didn't try anything else.

Jane felt herself crumpling into Weller's chest, unable to hold herself up any longer. The full weight of the past few minutes was suddenly crushing her. She wasn't sure how long they stayed in that position. Eventually she heard the clanging of footsteps on the metal stairs coming from below. She recognized the voices of Reade and Zapata, and she saw shapes of two people go past her as the two finally reached them. It all seemed to be happening around her, but she couldn't bring herself to speak or to interact with any of them. All she could do was lean her forehead against the chest plate of Weller's bulletproof vest.

"Weller, I swear to God, next time can you _please_ catch the perp on, like, the second or third floor? Those stairs were a _bitch,_ " Zapata pretended to complain, cracking a smile a second later.

"Yeah, you don't have to prove to _us_ how tough you are, alright man?" Reade agreed, a chuckle escaping from him almost immediately.

Weller just shook his head at their attempt at humor as they cuffed an angry Chao and pushed him roughly to his feet, shoving him toward the door and the long walk down the stairs.

"We'll see you guys down there," Zapata called over her shoulder, pushing Chao through the doorway. Weller nodded in her direction, then turned his attention back to Jane, who had yet to say anything besides "I remember something," since she'd saved his life. He had just been beginning to get worried about her, and the idea of carrying her down all those stairs was more than a little daunting.

As she slowly began to be aware of her surroundings again, one of the first things that Jane felt was Weller's hand wrapped securely around her arm where she'd been shot. His thumb moved back and forth against her skin just the tiniest bit, which she found strangely soothing. She looked up at him slowly, blinking as if she'd just woken up.

"Didn't I tell you to keep pressure on that?" he asked gently, his eyes shining with his joke, when he saw that she was coming around.

"Sorry," she mumbled, "I got distracted while I was chasing two guys to the top of a sky scraper." She slowly lifted her head from his chest as she spoke, looking up at him with a weak smile. In return, she received the biggest smile she'd seen on Weller's face in the few days that she'd known him. Despite their brief partnership, she somehow knew that this smile was extremely rare.

"You did good," he told her quietly. "You saved my life. Thank you."

Her smile grew then, as wide as she could muster considering the exhaustion she now felt. Shaking her head, she started to say something but found that no words would come, yet somehow she got the feeling that her message had been received, even though she wasn't quite sure what she'd said in the first place.

"Now that Chao's taken care of, we need to get your arm looked at," he told her in a tone that showed that there was no room for argument.

"I'm ok, I can—" she put her left hand up and tried to push his to the side, to show that she could take over keeping pressure on the wound until they could get to an EMT.

Weller just shook his head stubbornly. "Nope," he replied firmly, not letting go of her arm. "You've lost a lot of blood, probably more than you think." He sighed then, and added, "Besides… I walked you right into danger. It's the least I can do." The smile from a moment before had been replaced by a stone faced, dead serious expression.

She made an exasperated face at him, narrowing her eyes slightly. "No way. I've stubbornly _insisted_ that I be allowed to come along at every step of the way today," she reminded him. "It's my own fault." Then she shrugged as she added, "Next time, I'll try and remember to duck."

"Well, I'll agree with the stubborn part…" Weller began with a chuckle, but he stopped, and she could tell he wanted to say more. She couldn't help but shake her head, feeling like they were probably equally matched in the stubbornness department. Suddenly his expression was serious again. "Jane, you saved my life. Just let me help _you_ , now, okay? Besides, the EMTs aren't going to drag all their equipment up here unless it's absolutely necessary… and I think we can make it down on our own. Right?" To her surprise, the look in his eyes had softened, and was suddenly pleading her to let him help her. She found that she was unable to fight him any longer.

Besides, she hadn't thought of it that way before – about him replaying her for saving his life. She supposed that that would be okay, though of course, she _could_ do it on her own if she'd needed to.

 _Oh, just let him help you, for God's sake_ , the voice in her head told her.

"Okay," she replied quietly, suddenly giving in. Keeping a grip of her wounded right arm in his left hand, he pushed himself up to stand, then held out his right hand to help her up as well. She took it with her left hand, facing him, and allowed herself to be pulled up so that she was standing in front of him. Moving so that he was standing on her right side, he transferred her wounded arm into his right hand. In the few seconds when he released the pressure on it before he could replace it with his other hand, she felt a sudden sharp pain, and gasped slightly against her will.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking unhappy with himself and quickly taking her arm in his right hand. She smiled slightly at him, just waiting to see what exactly he was doing as he rearranged himself beside her. He slid his left hand around her waist gently but firmly, and she was surprised to find that it didn't make her uncomfortable that he was holding onto her that way.

 _I was only shot in the arm,_ she thought to herself. _Why would he think I needed him to hold me up?_ And yet, she _did_ feel light headed. She didn't know if it was from blood loss, from the physical exertion of having climbed the equivalent of twenty-two stories worth of stairs, from the emotional toll all of it was taking on her, or from all of it, but she found that she actually felt relieved to have Weller help hold her up.

 _How did he know?_ she wondered.

They stepped sideways through the doorway onto the circular stairs which seemed to go on forever before them, and she suddenly stopped and grabbed the handrail with her left hand. It was the only hand that either of them had free.

"You should probably hold onto that for both of us," Weller suggested with a smirk. "Falling down _these_ stairs would not be what we need right now." Jane chuckled to herself and nodded in agreement, holding onto the railing as tightly as she could while still moving down the stairs. They took it slowly, one step at a time, and it felt like they would never reach the bottom.

Eventually, however, they made it down all three hundred fifty four stairs and were on the ground. It felt eerie walking back through the same hallway where she'd been shot as they wound their way out of the building, and Weller had to walk almost behind her in order for them to fit down the narrow hallway, but he kept his right hand tightly around her right arm. His left hand was still on her left side, though now that they had made it down the stairs he wasn't so much holding her up as he was keeping it there for moral support. Still, she was glad for it.

They could hear the crackly chatter of police radios growing louder the closer they got to the door that led outside. As they stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, they spotted Reade and Zapata talking with several police officers, and Mayfair listening seriously to a man who appeared to be the officers' superior. Weller walked with her directly toward the EMTs, who had set up not far from the door, not letting go of her until the EMTs approached and assured him that they'd take it from here.

She looked up at him and smiled, feeling immense gratitude toward this man who had already done so much for her. "Thanks," she said simply. He shook his head slightly, giving her the small half smile that she was already coming to recognize from him as one that most people didn't get to see much of.

"No, thank _you_ , Jane," he replied. He stood and continued looking at her for a few seconds, as if he was looking for something, but didn't say another word, then turned and walked toward where Mayfair was still talking to the police officer. Jane allowed herself to be escorted by the EMTs to sit down on the seat at the back of the ambulance as they tended to her arm, feeling an immense sense of relief that Chao had been caught and that no one had been seriously hurt. At the same time, she watched Weller, wondering what, if anything, they'd already found out… and what, if anything specific, he'd been looking for when he'd last looked at her.


	16. How Did You Know?

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

Jane's security detail had taken her home several hours before, right after the EMTs at Liberty Island had finished working on her arm, and Weller hadn't had another chance to talk to her since they'd led her away. Not surprisingly after everything that had happened that day, Weller had faced both a mountain of paperwork as well as debriefings both alone and with the team back at headquarters.

Things had taken longer than usual this time, now that they had Jane as an extra variable. He'd met with Mayfair, Reade and Zapata to go over what they had discovered that day, about both the case in general, and about Jane specifically. As far as her identity was concerned, things seemed to be slowly falling into place. Today, they had learned that she had most certainly had some sort of professional, special ops level weapons and fight training, which made the mystery of who she was both simultaneously clearer and yet even more puzzling.

He parked his car in front of her safe house, behind the car that belonged to her security detail, thinking once more that surely, such a run-down building was far from the best that the FBI could have done for her. Was this neighborhood even safe enough for a _safe_ house? Sure, New York real estate was expensive, but… there was just something depressing about the peeling paint, the weathered wood, the rust stains on the concrete… that block had seen better days. His newer model car looked out of place there, he thought, as he closed the door and clicked the keyfab, the car's alarm system chirping in reply.

Weller nodded at Jane's security detail as he walked past them, sitting in the car, receiving an almost nonexistent nod of acknowledgement in response. He wasn't impressed with the way they were surveying her door – they only seemed to be sort of paying attention as he walked by – but he told himself that these were trained FBI agents, and they were merely being discrete. Or at least, he hoped that was what was happening, and not that they were being negligent. He couldn't afford to have anything happen to Jane.

 _Don't be paranoid_ , he told himself in annoyance. Pushing these thoughts aside, he opened the outer storm door to the safe house and knocked firmly.

She'd been staring blankly at the TV with no idea what the program was or what it was even about when she'd heard Weller's loud knock on the door. Not expecting anyone, she glanced at the door suspiciously. At the same time, she couldn't imagine that her security detail would allow a stranger that close to her safe house.

 _Besides,_ she told herself, _anyone who was really dangerous wouldn't knock anyway… Or would they?_

She was immediately tense as she considered what to do. Standing up, she grabbed the remote control and pressed the power button, bringing the noise from the TV to an abrupt halt. The silence descended around her as she walked nervously to the door. Who in the world could it be?

Weller could hear some sort of indistinct noise inside the house, perhaps a TV, but he noticed that the noise quickly ceased after he knocked. There was silence for just a few seconds, and then he heard light footsteps coming closer to the door. _Jane must have been nearby._ _I wonder what she was doing_ , he thought, suddenly curious about how she filled her time alone in the empty safe house.

As he stood wondering, the door creaked slightly, straining as if it was stuck, then opened suddenly, sending Jane stumbling back a few short steps before she got her balance again. At first she looked tense but then, as she realized that she knew the person in front of her, she relaxed.

"Sorry, the door…" she looked apologetically at the wooden door between them. "It's been sticking. I have to really pull hard on it to get it to open." His visit was a surprise – a welcome one – and she wasn't sure what else to say, so she opened the door wider and stepped back. "Did you want to come in?"

Weller nodded, smiling just a little, then stepped inside as she closed the door behind him and locked it again. "I can take a look at it for you," he told her, indicating the offending door. "It probably just needs a little adjustment. Easy fix. I'll come by tomorrow with my tools."

"Oh, okay… thanks," she replied quietly, her eyes darting down to the floor, then back to him. Once again she didn't know what else to say. She couldn't help but remember the last time he'd been there – was that only _yesterday_? – when he'd left her there for the first time, which had been followed by not one but _two_ rather spectacular breakdowns on her part. She hoped not to repeat those.

They'd stopped beside the staircase just inside the front door. Now that Weller was standing in front of her, Jane was suddenly desperate to know what had happened with Chao and if they'd gotten _anything_ out of him. It was all she could do to try to be patient, but she couldn't stand it anymore. She'd tried for hours to distract herself, hoping for news, but it was all she could think about.

"So, did Chao say anything?" She managed to keep her voice steady, even though she was desperate for information. They both watched each other carefully, Weller's eyes meeting hers and then darting away, but coming back to lock onto hers again quickly. He hated to disappoint her.

"No, no…" Weller replied, knowing that this wasn't what she wanted to hear, and watching Jane's face drop slightly, "he just got out of surgery, so… we _will_ question him tomorrow."

"Okay," she whispered. She looked so fragile just then, as if a single word could have knocked her over. It was hard to believe she was the same woman who'd climbed the entire State of Liberty at top speed and then shot Chao under intense pressure, with no memory of having ever fired a gun, all after being shot in her right arm herself. She was such a mystery to him, and he couldn't help but look at her intently. There was something about her eyes that seemed to hypnotize him.

Realizing that he'd been staring at her, he suddenly shifted his gaze to her arm, where the white bandage hid the bullet wound. His eyes pulled back up to her face for one more second, then back down to her arm. "How're you feeling, Jane?"

She looked down at the bandage too, then back up at him. There was something about him that she couldn't understand. All she knew was that when she looked at him, her heart seemed to beat a little bit louder.

"Physically, I'm okay," she replied softly. "I'm a little banged up," she added, glancing back down at her arm, then her eyes returning once again to him, "but they said my arm's going to be fine. Emotionally… I, uh… I don't know."

He felt a lump in his throat, and he had to swallow in order to try to push down the feeling that had come along with it. _If only there was something I could do for her to make the sad look in her eyes go away_. He would have done just about _anything_ just then. They looked at each other for a few seconds, just holding eye contact, neither wanting to break the spell by looking away.

Her mind was clouded with what felt like nothing but questions, none of which there seemed to be answers to. Suddenly, she thought of one that might have an answer. Without looking away, she asked, "How did you know I could make that shot?"

She was surprised when he didn't look away, just continued to stare intently into her eyes as if he saw something there that kept him locked onto her. She wondered if she had a similar look on her face as well, because it was almost as though the way she felt when she looked at him was reflected in the look he was giving her.

Considering her sudden question, he exhaled slightly, blinking several times but not looking away from her. They were standing close together, he suddenly realized, closer than usual… and yet, he had no desire to back up or to look away. On the contrary, he didn't think that he could do it if he tried.

"I didn't know," he told her honestly, "I took a chance on you."

Jane's face changed then, he noticed, and she looked away, obviously holding in a burst of emotion. There was still a small cut on her lip from the fight at Chao's apartment building earlier that day, a small but real reminder of how much she had been through in that one day alone. He couldn't imagine how overwhelming it all must be for her.

She took a breath, still avoiding his eyes, then began talking. "None of this," she looked back at him as she spoke, "feels real." He couldn't help but think that she looked close to tears.

Though they already stood close together, he took a small step forward, so that he was standing closer to her still. "Jane," he began, "you're going to be okay. I promise." The look in her eyes, however, told him that she didn't believe him. No, he realized, it wasn't that she didn't believe him. Maybe she was afraid to believe him. Or maybe she just didn't know _how_ to believe what he was telling her.

"I don't know what that feels like," she replied, still staring into his eyes desperately. She couldn't help but feel like she was drowning in her emotions, with no idea how to right herself again.

 _Of course,_ he thought. _There's nothing in her memory that hasn't been traumatic. She remembers two days, and they've been two days that would have traumatized anyone._

He looked away from her, slightly taken aback by the thought, glanced down, but then quickly looked back at her. There was nothing else that he could say that would help her. Absolutely nothing. So even though it went completely against his nature, he took the last half step forward that had separated them and gently pulled her into a hug. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, her arms around his waist. As he stood holding onto her, he could feel her breathing unevenly as she leaned against him.

She struggled to get ahold of herself. Though she was immensely grateful to Weller at that moment for being what she desperately needed – a rock that she could cling to in the storm that was her life – she desperately wanted to maintain some semblance of dignity. The last thing she wanted to do was to fall apart in front of him, if she could possibly avoid it.

As he stood there, holding tightly to this woman who was such a mysterious paradox, both so strong and yet so fragile at once, he looked down at the tattoos on the back of her neck. That was when he saw it. At the base of her neck, at the bottom of a large picture of several towers and above his name, there was a raised horizontal scar. He stared at it for several seconds, wondering if he was really seeing this, or if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

 _It isn't possible. Of all the people in the whole world… no, it just isn't possible. It_ _ **can't**_ _be her. It simply can't. After all this time…_

 _And yet, it would explain a lot. Like why my name is tattooed on her back_ , he thought, his mind suddenly racing.

She felt so safe there, with his arms around her. Of course, she was still terrified and confused, but somehow the questions that swirled around in her head, the ones that never stopped hounding her, suddenly weren't so loud. The force of them didn't bombard her the way they did when she was on her own. Somehow, at that moment, encircled in his arms, she felt the safest she could remember ever feeling, even as conflicted as she still was.

Struggling to compose herself, she inhaled sharply several times in a row, but finding that instead of feeling calmer, her heart began to race faster. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a long, slow breath, demanding that her brain stop the endless string of frantic thoughts, insisting to herself that she simply _had_ to calm down.

From the increasing speed of her breathing, he wondered if she was having the beginning of a panic attack. He couldn't say that he blamed her after everything she'd been through. He did the only thing he could think to do, and held onto her just a little tighter, thoughts of who she may or may not be momentarily pushed aside in favor of who she clearly _was_ at that moment: a woman who needed him, who he connected with for _whatever_ reason, and who seemed to be drowning. How could he _not_ hold onto her?

It took a few minutes, but her breathing evened out. She suddenly realized how long and how tightly she'd been hanging onto him, and she quickly let go, stepping back slightly in embarrassment. Her eyes darted nervously around the room, looking everywhere but at him.

"I'm sorry, I…" She couldn't find the right words to explain how she felt just then, and she could feel her cheeks flushing a deep pink.

Weller had been watching her carefully since she'd stepped back so suddenly, wanting to stop her from being so hard on herself but not wanting to push her. She already looked like she was about to bolt, though it seemed unlikely since they were in _her_ house.

"Jane," he started, then waited for her to look back at him. Her eyes continued to dart around the room, resting everywhere but on him. Slowly, he stepped forward the same distance that she'd stepped back, so that they were once again only inches apart. "Hey," he said softly, once again waiting for her eyes to meet his. She stared down at his shirt, then closed her eyes and exhaled heavily before slowly opening them again and looking at him.

 _She looks so lost_ , he couldn't help but think. Looking into her eyes again, this time holding her gaze with his, he repeated his earlier promise. "You're _going_ to be okay. You'll see." It came out as almost a whisper.

A sad smile crept across her face, and she found herself nodding even though she wasn't sure that she believed him. She couldn't imagine how any of this could possibly be okay, but somehow when Weller said it, she found herself almost believing it. Was it because she desperately _wanted_ to believe it? That could be part of it. But there was something else. There was a sincerity in his eyes that left her powerless. As much as she was afraid to believe him, she almost couldn't help herself. With him in her corner, maybe, just maybe, she _would_ be okay after all.

They stared at each other for another long minute, until he began to feel like one of them had to say something – just standing there staring at each other was becoming awkward. "I should get going, let you get some sleep," he said gently, still looking into her eyes. She looked down, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, I'm pretty exhausted," she replied quietly, her eyes darting back up to his. He didn't move immediately, and she suddenly noticed the concern in his eyes.

"You going to be okay?" he asked. She smiled at his question, warmth filling her eyes at the thought that he was worried about her, as she nodded her head.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm going to go to bed. I'm sure some sleep will help."

He watched her uncertainly, nodding. "Good," he replied simply. Giving her one more small smile of concern, he nodded and turned slowly toward the door. He suddenly realized that he felt guilty leaving her there alone. As he put his hand on the doorknob, he turned back around to find her still standing in the same spot, watching him go.

"If you need anything, just call me," he told her seriously. She nodded quickly, saying nothing.

 _I need something_ , she thought to herself almost immediately. _I need someone to tell me how to be okay. I need to know how to not be scared. I need… myself back. But he can't give me any of that._

Smiling at him to hide her thoughts, she walked to the door as he opened it and stepped through. "Weller," she said suddenly, holding the storm door open as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He turned back then, his eyes going directly to hers. She found that she couldn't articulate everything that she wanted to say, that she wasn't even sure _what_ she wanted to say. Taking a deep breath, she said the only word that she could articulate.

"Thanks." She smiled apologetically, wishing she could explain all the things she felt. The smile that crept onto his face then was a stark contrast to his usual serious demeanor.

"Anytime," he replied, walking past her security detail, still lounging in their car, and back to his own. She stood at the door and watched until he pulled out onto the road, then closed and locked the door behind her, pulling herself up the steps toward her bedroom.

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she once again stood naked in front of her bedroom mirror, examining the tattoos that covered her body, just as she had the night before. She didn't break down as she had the previous day, but this time simply looked at them resignedly, wondering for the thousandth time how she had ended up here, like this. It didn't seem to make sense, any of it, but at least it didn't all seem quite as hopeless as it had the day before. It was the smallest of small victories, but she'd have to take them where she could get them, she decided as she walked slowly across the room and climbed into bed.

As Kurt navigated through the empty streets between Jane's safe house and his apartment, his mind returned to his earlier revelation.

 _Could Jane be her? Was it possible? No, surely it was a coincidence._

But then he conjured up a picture of her in his head, of those green eyes staring at him intently. Those eyes that were so much like the ones that he had known as a child.

 _After twenty-five years,_ he thought in awe, _what if…?_


	17. Pancakes and Memories

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 **Season 1, episode 2**

Jane had met with Dr. Borden again that morning in his sterile, bright white office. Her session had been a little less stressful than the one the previous day, though once again, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. Should she just tell him about her day? Somehow that seemed much too meaningless to even share. It was still strange to her to be expected to tell her every thought to a complete stranger, as kind as he seemed to be.

 _Then again,_ she reasoned, _who_ _ **isn't**_ _a complete stranger?_

Apparently that was exactly what his job was, however – to sit and listen to her talk about whatever she had to say, sometimes asking questions. As their conversation jumped from one thing to another, she couldn't help but wonder if he actually enjoyed having to listen to mundane details about other people's lives all day long. _He must not hate it_ , she told herself. _After all, he chose this job._

Still, talking to him just felt… _strange_ was the only word she could think of. Then again, there wasn't any point in the day when she didn't feel strange, out of place, out of synch with the world. Some moments were better than others, and she wasn't quite as anxious as she'd been on the first day, when the FBI had found her, but she had yet to find anything resembling normalcy.

Dr. Borden had projected the images from the Rorschach Test on the screen on the wall, so that they loomed large and dazzlingly bright in front of them. They'd given her flashbacks of that same training exercise in the woods that she'd already remembered. Even though it wasn't a brand new memory, it set her on edge. She was supposed to be that person… but who _was_ she, that person that she couldn't remember? What had she been training for? Who was the man who kept telling her to do it again?

She ended her session without remembering anything new, and she swore she felt more agitated than she had when she'd arrived. Obviously she wasn't an expert on therapy, but she was pretty sure that the goal of it wasn't supposed to be to stress her out… and yet that was exactly what it had done. If she'd known to compare herself to a rubber band that is stretched almost to the breaking point and ready to snap, she would have said that that was how she felt. But alas, that concept was one of the many things that had been erased from her memory. Walking toward the door to the waiting area, she ordered herself to hold it together, even though she knew that that wasn't quite how it worked.

…

Kurt had tried his best to start the day in a good mood, despite the fact that he'd barely slept at all after the revelation of the night before. Ever since he'd seen the scar on the back of Jane's neck, he simply could not let go of the idea that Jane could be Taylor Shaw. Today was _not_ going to be easy.

Was it possible that another woman of that same age had a similar scar in the same place? Of course. Was it likely? Well, not very likely, but certainly not impossible. It would explain the other strange things about her though. The tattoo of his name on her back, for one, would be a little less random – though still completely baffling, at least there would be _some_ kind of connection between the two of them.

If Jane was Taylor, it would also explain why his connection to her had been so immediate and so… overwhelming. Despite the fact that as far as he'd known, she was a complete stranger, what he had felt around her from the beginning was deep and just… he couldn't explain it. Logically he knew that it just didn't _work_ that way – that kind of intense connection with a complete stranger. He had never had that sensation before, where he'd met someone for the first time and somehow felt so… what was it that he _felt_ around her, anyway?

He couldn't even get it straight in his head, much less put it into words. Whatever it was, he'd never felt it with anyone _at all_ , the first time he'd met them or even in his longest term relationship, which had lasted a year.

Yes, if she was Taylor Shaw, it would answer a lot of his questions, even though it would lead to so many more.

So when Sarah and Sawyer had gotten up and noisily began making pancakes – or what Sarah called pancakes, anyway – out in the kitchen, it had been a not so welcome reminder that a new day was already underway, despite the fact that he wasn't entirely ready for it. Telling himself that he wasn't going to be annoyed with his sister and nephew for something that wasn't their fault, he emerged from his room, ready for work.

Plastering a smile on his face, he looked with trepidation at what Sarah was attempting to make. Most people thought that you couldn't mess up pancakes, but then, most people had never met his sister. He wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed to keep Sawyer alive this long, based on her extremely limited cooking skills. But she continued to try, bless her heart, and Kurt had to give her credit for trying.

Before he had a chance to make his escape from the apartment, Sarah brought up the annual memorial for Taylor, which was approaching. Their dad wanted to know if he was going to be there.

 _Why does he do this?_ Kurt thought in irritation. He struggled to keep his voice even as he told her that no, he had too much going on with work. He tried not to let his frustration with their father show, but didn't succeed completely.

Sarah watched sadly as her brother closed up before her eyes. Really, she should have expected it. She knew what bringing up Taylor did to him. It didn't seem like he'd gotten much better at dealing with that particular topic in the last twenty-five years. He had gone through an angry phase in his teens, but mainly, the mention of Taylor had always caused a shut down in Kurt, as if he simply couldn't process the word "Taylor" without it interfering with his ability to function. It was sad, really. He'd never let himself get over it, and she knew that he'd never stopped blaming himself for her disappearance. Quite the opposite, actually. He'd molded his whole life around the guilt that he carried around.

Kurt bid his nephew goodbye and headed out the door before Sarah could say anything else. He knew that he'd miss the two of them when they found their own place – whenever that happened – but at that moment he couldn't help but miss the tranquility and peace of his apartment when it had been _his_ apartment alone. True, he spent nearly all of his time at work, but when he did decide to be away from the office, even if it meant bringing the work home with him, he enjoyed the quiet and order that his apartment used to provide, before Sarah and Sawyer had moved in.

Still, they were family, and he'd do almost anything for them. If it meant that his routine was disrupted for a while, then so be it. That was far from the biggest thing on his mind that morning, merely something that was happening in his life, for better or worse.

When he finally did get to work, he saw that, according to the schedule that Mayfair had sent him the day before, Jane was already in her session with Borden. She'd be done in about ten minutes, as a matter of fact, so he headed toward the psychologist's office to wait for her, attempting to push the irritations of the morning out of his head.

In the waiting area outside Borden's office, he settled himself in a chair, going over his theory of Jane's identity in his mind. He had yet to share it with anyone, even Mayfair. He wondered if it would actually make sense once he said it out loud, or if it was just something that made sense in his head.

 _Is it because I_ _ **want**_ _her to be Taylor? Is that why I'm seeing the evidence point to her?_ he wondered. He would have to give it more thought before he shared this idea with anyone.

Jane emerged from Dr. Borden's office right on time, looking around anxiously, as if she was expecting something unpleasant to happen to her at any moment. So many people swore by therapy, said that it was relaxing to have someone to talk to, but Jane did not appear to fall into this category. At least not today. If anything, he thought she looked slightly more agitated than she had the day before. But he could be remembering wrong, it was hard to be sure. He stood up when he saw her in the doorway, Borden not far behind her, looking over her shoulder.

"Good morning, Agent Weller," Borden called to him.

Weller nodded at him, giving him a look that passed for _almost_ a smile from Weller, though it would be considered the look of unhappiness bordering on annoyance from anyone else. "Good morning," he replied seriously.

Jane's eyes flicked up to Weller's, noticing him for the first time then. He could tell from looking in her eyes that she was already having a more frustrating day than he was, and he almost felt guilty for his annoyance with the little things that morning. _He_ knew exactly who he was and what he was supposed to do, after all. Every time he looked at Jane he imagined the weight that she must carry around all the time, not knowing anything about _herself_ , it made his concerns seem small. You could never really know anyone else, but yourself? That was supposed to be the one person that you _could_ really know.

His eyes remained on hers as her face changed to one of recognition, and he swore he saw a hint of relief on her face. Without even realizing it, he smiled then. It was a small smile, but for Weller even that much was a rare occurrence, something his colleagues seldom witnessed.

Dr. Borden was still watching from inside his office door, behind Jane, and he noted with interest the change in Weller's expression when he looked at her. While Dr. Borden couldn't see the look that Jane gave Weller in return, he did notice, even from behind her, that her shoulders suddenly looked slightly less tense as she walked through the waiting area beside him. As he watched the two of them, he couldn't help but notice what appeared to be a certain ease between them. They'd known each other for a few days, at most, and yet, he noted a difference in Jane from the moment she'd spotted the FBI agent beside her.

 _Interesting_ , he thought to himself as he closed the door to his office and turned back towards his desk. He was glad to see that Jane seemed to have made a friend already. In her situation, that kind of connection was extremely important. After all, everyone needed _someone_ on their side.

Weller glanced at her as they walked in silence, side by side down the hall. Her attention seemed to be elsewhere. She must have felt him looking at her, because she turned to look at him then, attempting a smile. He could see that it wasn't reaching her eyes, however, and he felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her somehow, despite the fact that he had no idea what was wrong.

He dug his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching out to her. It seemed that his first response was always to reach for her, and it was completely unlike him. He had no idea why he kept thinking that way, and he gritted his teeth, slightly anxious. As much as it felt like the right thing to do, he knew that it wasn't the _professional_ thing to do, so he fought the urge to the best of his ability.

Without warning he suddenly stopped walking, and she halted in surprise beside him as well. "Jane, are you okay?" he asked with concern.

She looked down, nodding her head quickly – the kind of nod given by someone who was definitely _not_ okay but desperately wanted to hide it, someone who wanted to convince both herself and the person in front of her that she was. "Yeah," she whispered. Looking back up at him a few seconds later, however, she could see that he didn't believe her. The look on his face made her bite her bottom lip to stop the quiver that she felt as soon as she realized this, her face threatening to give everything away.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. He gave her a sad, sympathetic smile then, allowing himself to slowly draw his hands out of his pockets, but keeping them at his sides.

"What can I do?" he asked her softly. She felt like she was far from a good judge of human nature, having no experience to draw from other than her gut instinct, but everything inside her told her that his concern was absolutely as genuine as it seemed. Somehow she just _knew_. Besides, hadn't they already been through a lot together, even in the few days that they'd known each other?

She exhaled and felt her eyes close involuntarily, overwhelmed by what she had already processed today, despite the fact that it was not yet 8:30 am, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. Weller stood momentarily frozen, watching her and feeling helpless. Finally, unable to watch her go on like this any longer, he allowed himself to reach out to her, resting his right hand gently in the middle of her back.

For a second she tensed up visibly, her muscles tightening beneath his touch. He wondered if he'd done the wrong thing. However, before he could decide to remove his hand, she'd relaxed again, and she had turned slightly to lean against him every so gently, her left arm and shoulder resting hesitantly against his chest – though her arms were still tightly folded in front of her, as if to protect her from unseen attackers.

Slowly, he moved his hand from the middle of her back to her right shoulder, so that his arm was now draped across her back. She didn't cry, he noticed, but instead took slow, deep breaths, as if she was fighting to remain calm. It didn't seem to be working, however, and after a minute or so of listening to deep breaths, that were gradually happening faster and faster, he pulled her around to face him, now holding onto her with both arms in a hug that he hoped would help. He simply didn't know what else to do, only that he had to do _something_.

Of course she'd known that she was walking down the hall with Weller, but once they stopped and he asked her if she was okay, suddenly it was as though for a few minutes there, she lost track of herself. She didn't flash back to the gun range again, it was just an overwhelming feeling of being… how to describe it? "Assaulted by her senses" seemed like the only words that made sense, but even that sounded a little bit like nonsense.

When she suddenly realized that he was holding onto her tightly with both arms wrapped around her, she immediately tensed in embarrassment. _How many times in one week could she break down in front of him, and make him feel like he had to comfort her, anyway?_ she wondered, blushing awkwardly.

"Sorry," she muttered, stepping back suddenly and looking away. As he felt her push away from him, he lowered his arms and let go of her, but kept his eyes locked on hers.

"Jane," he said quietly, then waited patiently for her to look up at him. When she finally did, her cheeks still burning with embarrassment, she started to open her mouth to apologize. He just shook his head and cut her off before she had a chance.

"It's fine," he told her. "Don't worry about it."

Jane nodded, looking exhausted. That was when Weller remembered where he'd been taking her in the first place. "So, you up for something totally different?" he asked.

"If it doesn't involve therapy or ink blots, _yes,_ " Jane groaned, trying to lighten the mood, which made Weller chuckle.

"Actually, it involves a room full of guns," he replied, amused by the look of surprise that came over her. "Come on."

 _Is he kidding?_ she wondered. He certainly _looked_ pleased with himself. She was interested enough that her panic from a moment before was quickly replaced by curiosity, and they resumed their walk down the hall toward a different method of trying to trigger Jane's memory.


	18. Muscle Memory

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 **Season 1, episode 2**

Only a few minutes later, Jane found herself in a small, darkened room. There was a cutout window in the wall on one side of her, and Weller stood a few feet away on the other. In front of them there was a small, square table where several very large guns and ammunition clips were laid out. She eyed them unsurely, feeling Weller watching her as she inspected them. You would've thought that by now, she'd be used to the feeling of people watching her, evaluating her every move, looking for meaning where there was usually none. People at the FBI stared at her differently that the occasional random person that she might encounter – though she hadn't had many encounters with "everyday" people so far – but still, they stared at her nonetheless. Despite this constant scrutiny, the feeling that Weller was watching her, waiting for something to trigger her memory, made her skin crawl.

Trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes on her, she focused on what was in front of them. _Guns. Very big guns._ The plain white v-neck t-shirt and dark jeans that she wore felt completely inadequate to the weapons that lay on the table in front of her. Looking down at them, she felt as though she should have been dressed as some sort of commando, or in riot gear, _something_ besides just the clothing of an everyday person. After all, she was far from being one. Maybe that was why she appreciated the simplicity of her wardrobe so much, despite the fact that she hadn't been the one to pick out any of it. The simpler the better. After all, her life was complicated enough.

"What are we doing in here?" she asked unsurely, looking up at him. _Am I supposed to do something with these?_

"Your first memory was triggered by being active. Maybe your muscles might remember something your body can't," he told her.

She could see a gleam of hopefulness in his eyes, and looked back down at the guns, at a loss. Even before she'd done anything, she felt as though she was already letting him down. This fear of disappointing him was at least equal to the frustration she felt over not remembering anything. Taking a step forward to the table, she carefully picked up the gun closest to her, pointing it in the air and looking at it intently, willing herself to remember.

"That's an M-4," he told her. "So if you want to fire that…" He stopped, realizing that she didn't need to be told. "…you're going to do…" He paused again, watching her attach the clip. "…exactly that." Despite not remembering what to do, she had, in fact, already done it. By the time she had finished, he was staring at her in awe. Sure, he'd hoped that she'd remember something, but he'd just watched her do much more than he'd expected, and to say that he was quite surprised was an understatement.

His guess – that her body would remember the motions even if her mind couldn't give it directions – had been correct. Feeling like he'd just won a tremendous victory, he met her eyes as she looked up at him in surprise. He was still slightly stunned as he motioned her toward the opposite side of the room. "Step up," he told her, interested to see what else she could do.

Safety glasses and ear protection in place, she readied herself to fire at the target mounted at the other end of the indoor firing range that opened out at one end of the room. "Okay," she said to herself as she raised the gun, balancing it against her shoulder, "let's try this." She unleashed a rapid burst of noise as she fired, Weller standing behind her, watching as she hit nearly every shot at the center of the target. After the M-4, she tried the other guns that were laid out on the table, each time with the same results. He couldn't deny that she had some _serious_ skills.

Each time she filled the center of her target with bullet holes, the look on his face grew closer and closer to a smile, until finally she'd successfully tried all of the weapons he'd set out, and he could feel himself grinning ever so slightly, despite his best efforts to keep his face neutral. Shaking his head, he walked up beside her as she gazed at her final target, full of holes at the center.

"Not bad," he told her, staring at the final paper, this one displaying her skill just as strongly as the others had. His words understated how impressed he was with what she had done. His tone, on the other hand, was warm and complimentary. "I'd guess that you've had some serious training." He looked down at her then, and he could see that he was making her a little bit uncomfortable with even these small compliments.

Jane glanced up at Weller, her expression slightly uneasy, and she watched as the look on his face slowly changed as he spoke, from one that told her that he was impressed but trying to keep it carefully masked – she probably wasn't supposed to notice – to an expression of genuine and unabashed… what? Amazement? Affection, even? Maybe a blend of the two? It wasn't the first time he'd given her that look, though it usually didn't stay on his face for more than a second before he caught himself and a more professional, serious one replaced it. This time, on the other hand, he was either unaware that he was looking at her that way, or had given up on trying to hide it.

Though he could see that he was making her a little uneasy, he couldn't help but give her one more compliment. "Then again," he added after a pause, "I figured out you were a good shot when you shot Chao and not me. That wasn't just good luck." The sincerity in his eyes made her squirm a little, and she glanced back at the target for a few seconds. "Well, I mean, it was good luck for _me,"_ he chuckled at his own joke, attempting to lighten the air in the room, which suddenly felt like it had become electrically charged, as her eyes flicked back to his.

She shrugged, blushing ever so slightly. What could she say to that? Beyond her one memory of the shooting course in the snowy woods with the bearded stranger, she had no idea. She certainly couldn't take credit for what she'd just done. It had been her, of course, but at the same time it had been someone else completely. _God, that sounds weird_ , she thought to herself in exasperation. _Can't anything be simple?_

Glancing at her beside him, Weller noticed how conflicted Jane looked as she, too, stared once more at the target, the record of her apparently excellent marksmanship.

"So," he began tentatively, "did it… trigger anything? Beyond proving one more time that you're a damn good shot?" As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them, as her shoulders immediately slumped and she shook her head, looking down in front of her. Despite the compliment and all of her results to the contrary, his words had only made her feel like a failure. It took a second before he realized exactly what he'd said wrong. She couldn't bring herself to reply, all she could do was shake her head slowly, staring straight ahead.

In her head, she hadn't heard Weller call her a "damn good shot," all she'd processed from his words was the fact that she'd failed to remember anything new, which was the whole point of everything they were doing. If she couldn't get her memories back, what the hell was she supposed to _do_? Not remembering just wasn't an option. She _had_ to remember. Somehow, she had to _make_ herself remember. Frustration boiled to the surface and she didn't even realize that she'd balled her hands into tight fists at her side. In fact, she stopped being conscious of anything around her for a few seconds and closed her eyes, the noise in her head suddenly deafening. She didn't hear anything else Weller may have said to her after that.

Watching her carefully, Weller could see that she'd just shut down, and now he felt like a jerk for being the cause of it. Objectively, he knew that he hadn't done anything wrong – it was his _job_ to ask questions and get answers – but that didn't change the fact that he'd pushed her just a little too hard just then.

"Jane," he said tentatively, getting absolutely no reaction. Looking down, he saw her fists, noticed that her eyes weren't just closed, but squeezed tightly shut, and putting these things together with the fact that she hadn't moved a muscle when he'd said her name, he figured that just then she wasn't even hearing him.

He slowly brought his hand to her shoulder, resting it there gently, and without even realizing it, moving his thumb ever so slightly back and forth against the area between her shoulder and her neck. Even just from the hand on her shoulder, he could feel the tension coursing through her. As his hand sat on her shoulder for a few seconds, however, she seemed to relax slowly, exhaling more loudly than usual. He decided to try again. "Jane?" This time he said her name as a question. She inhaled slowly, exhaling loudly once again, then allowed her eyes to open, her eyelids fluttering slightly. She stared momentarily at the floor, appearing to gather courage before turning to look at him shyly as her fists began to loosen as well.

"I…" she began, but found that no other words would come. She just stood there, staring at him, willing herself to speak but finding that she simply couldn't. Weller couldn't help but notice the desperation in her eyes, and just like that he became determined to say something that would calm her down.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. "It's okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" He paused in mid-sentence, not quite sure exactly what he was apologizing for. All he knew was that his words had pushed her into some sort of abyss in her mind, and he needed to make sure that she didn't fall back in again. "It's going to be okay," he finally told her, leaving it at that.

A sad smile crept across her face and she shook her head slowly. "You keep saying that," she whispered.

 _How did this woman go from GI Jane, literally, to the woman in front of me who looks as though she's about to shatter into a million pieces, all in a matter of seconds?_ Weller wondered to himself.

He smiled back at her then, a rare genuine smile that was seldom seen on his face by anyone. Even when he wasn't working, Weller just didn't smile a lot. He considered himself serious and focused, just not a "smiley" person.

"I keep saying it," he said, squeezing her shoulder just a little bit, "because it's true. It's going to be okay. _You_ are going to be okay." He remembered her response the last time he'd told her that, back at her safe house. "You _will_ know what that feels like, even if you don't know yet."

"Okay," she whispered simply, looking away again and attempting to force herself to smile. She could see how hard he was trying to make her feel better, even if she couldn't really bring herself to believe what he was saying. After a few awkward seconds he reluctantly removed his hand from her shoulder, suddenly realizing how long it had been there.

He could see that she didn't believe him, but he let it go, because he could also see how hard she was trying just to hold on. Besides, he wasn't going to abandon her, and he was going to make sure that she made it through this.

"Let's go down to Patterson's lab," he said, hoping that changing the topic would dispel some of the tension in the room. "She wants to get your tattoos scanned and loaded into the system." Jane just nodded, knowing that since her tattoos covered her entire body, that process would be rather invasive, no matter how they did it. Still, it had to be done. It was the next step to finding the answers that she and the FBI both needed.

 _Besides, what do I have to lose, after all?_ she asked herself, the emptiness in the pit of her stomach suddenly expanding quickly until she felt that it would crush her.

 _Absolutely nothing_ , the voice in her head replied sadly. _To lose something, you would have to_ _ **have**_ _something. And you've already lost everything._

Weller walked to the door that led back to the hallway and held it open, waiting for her to follow. He studied her closely, noting that she suddenly looked distressed. It was different than the way she'd looked when she'd shut down just a minute before. He didn't know what had happened to make her look so despondent, but really, given the events of the past few days – the only ones that Jane could remember – it wasn't too surprising that she seemed overwhelmed.

He watched her intently, attempting to convey his support with his eyes alone. It might seem ridiculous, but the connection that he'd felt with her since the first time he saw her only seemed to get stronger the more they interacted. Of course he could be wrong, but he swore that based on the way that she looked at him, that she could feel it, too.

As she looked up and began slowly following him across the room, she once again noticed how intensely he was looking at her. She couldn't have described the look he gave her in words if she'd tried, she only knew that it was completely unlike the looks that anyone else gave her. Not that she knew that many people, of course, but it was so very different. The look that she got from any non-FBI affiliated strangers she happened to see had so far always been the same – a combination of fear and disgust. FBI personnel had looked at her with varying mixtures of curiosity, disinterest, suspicion and sometimes, even hostility. Apparently she looked like trouble to them.

Weller, on the other hand… she didn't know what it was about the way that he looked at her, but at least he seemed to see her as a human being, not a freak or a nuisance or someone who meant them harm. She walked through the doorway and stopped for half a second as he closed the door and turned to walk beside her, glancing at him fleetingly before looking down the hall that lay before them. He was watching her, she could feel it, but she didn't turn towards him again. Instead, she looked straight ahead as they navigated the labyrinth of halls of the FBI side by side toward Patterson's lab.

Though she felt that she was hanging on by barely a thread just then, Jane couldn't help but feel that with Weller by her side, things looked just a little less bleak than they otherwise would have.


	19. Except You

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 **Season 1, episode 2**

After matching him stride for stride down the hall to Patterson's lab, when they actually got there, Jane suddenly seemed to hang back slightly as they neared the door. She didn't know Patterson all that well yet, of course, but Weller suspected that it had more to do with the somewhat daunting task they were there to undertake. He had, of course, seen the initial photographs of Jane's tattoos – at least, many of them – and he'd wondered how she'd react to the decision to scan them all. It would be invasive, to be sure, but it had to be done.

Weller guessed at the source of her hesitation outside the door to the lab, so he glanced down at her with just a hint of an encouraging smile on his face – the one that counted as a smile for Weller – and nodded ever so slightly, then walked through the doorway in front of her. _Like he's trying to show me there's nothing to be scared of_ , Jane thought as she followed him. It was a silly thought, she knew, because after all, there _wasn't_ actually anything to be scared of, or so she told herself. No one was going to hurt her… still, she bit her lower lip uncertainly as she walked into the lab behind Weller.

Patterson was waiting for them when they arrived. Apparently imaging Jane's tattoos wasn't something that had just occurred to Weller at the last moment. No, judging from her lack of surprise to see them in her doorway, and the excitement she seemed to be bubbling over with before Weller had said a word, this was very much a part of the plan for the day.

It made sense, Jane supposed, since getting all of her tattoos into the system was the first step towards unlocking the clues that they held. Of course, scanning her tattoos, _all of them_ , would be a somewhat awkward process. They weren't just on her arms and legs, after all. They were _everywhere_.

Before they'd made it more than a few feet into the room, Patterson was in front of them, full of nervous, excited energy. Weller glanced at her, silently begging her to tone it down, for Jane's sake, and to understand that the woman in front of her was at least as freaked out as she looked, possibly a lot more.

"Ready to get started?" Patterson asked them, her eyes darting back and forth from one to the other.

Jane was looking more and more like she wanted to take off running, but to her credit, she held her ground, nodding firmly. Weller nodded as well, folding his arms across his chest and waiting to hear what the next step would be. Seeing that the other two were a little more solemn than she was herself, Patterson managed to temper her mood slightly as she turned around to retrieve a soft, white bathrobe from the counter nearby. She walked back to Jane holding the bundle, handing it to her and smiling at her sympathetically.

"So, uh, that door over there's the bathroom," she said, pointing towards a door at the far corner of the lab, "Just take off everything and put this on. You can leave your clothes in there. Then you're going to stand up over here," Patterson continued, pointing to the platform in a large, strange looking structure, "and it'll scan your whole body all at once." She glanced at Jane, suddenly understanding that while _she_ was excited about the data she was collecting, this was a whole other kind of experience for the person from whom the data was being collected. "You know, might as well get it all over with at once…?" The tone of her voice lifted slightly at the end, making the sentence a question. Patterson hoped that she seemed as apologetic as she suddenly felt.

Jane looked up at the machine, trying not to look as nervous as she felt about what she was about to do.

 _It's not that big of a deal,_ she told herself. _You crawled out of a bag naked in the middle of Times Square in front of how many people?_ She thought back to that night, or what little she could actually remember of it, anyway. Glancing up at Weller, she saw that he was watching her carefully, a familiar look of concern on his face. She attempted to force herself to smile at least a little, but had a feeling that it didn't come out quite right.

Nodding from one of them to the other, Jane ducked her head and headed for the bathroom to change into the robe. After folding her clothes – _They're not even really_ _ **my**_ _clothes,_ she thought ruefully to herself. _They belong to the FBI_ – and leaving them on a low shelf in the bathroom, she allowed herself just a few seconds to pull the softness of the robe tightly against her skin, peering in the mirror at her face and neck. _It's not a big deal_ , she told herself. _It's not a big deal_.

So far, of course, almost everything that had happened to her had at least _felt_ like a big deal, so attempting to convince herself otherwise seemed next to impossible. Still, she was determined to hold it together. One more look in the mirror to repeat her mantra once more to the scared girl she saw there, and she turned to open the door and face the task at hand. She just had to get it over with.

Weller and Patterson had been making small talk while they'd waited for her, and they both turned when she emerged from the bathroom in her robe. "It feels weird to wear a bathrobe at work," she stammered nervously, trying to dispel some tension, and really, just so that she'd have something to say. Patterson smiled sympathetically, walking over to put her hand on Jane's arm. She steered her closer to the machine that was, in effect, a giant scanner for 3D objects, including human beings. She motioned for Jane to step up to the platform in the middle.

"So," Patterson began to explain, "you're going to stand in the middle and put your arms out like this," Patterson demonstrated the correct placement of her arms, then continued. "And that platform is going to spin – just slowly. The machine scans you using what are basically lasers. They can actually read the images just fine even without light, so we'll turn the lights off in here so it'll be a little less…" The blonde blushed as she spoke, indirectly addressing the elephant in the room for the procedure. "…awkward," she finished finally. Jane just nodded, glancing at Weller, her eyes then darting around the room in slight panic before landing on him again. He held her gaze that time, nodding at her slowly and reassuringly. As uncomfortable as she felt, somehow the look on his face made her forget her increasing panic for a second, which was at least long enough to allow her to breathe a little bit.

He didn't envy Jane what she had to do next, or any of the rest of what she was going through, for that matter. She was being brave, of course, because what else could she do just then? Below the surface, however, he could tell that she was terrified. In her shoes, he wasn't sure he'd be able to be even as calm as she was. He felt like the least he could do was to stand there and try to give her moral support.

Patterson walked across the room to a console that controlled the device and began pressing buttons. Neither of the other two was quite sure what she was doing, but that was pretty normal. She had the tech thing down to a science, and the others could rarely keep up with her.

Weller walked over to Jane, who was standing on the platform and suddenly looking slightly paler than usual. Her hands were clenching and unclenching into fists and fidgeting with the sleeves of her robe nervously. She looked down at him from where she stood, now slightly higher up than him for once, and attempted a smile. It didn't reach her eyes, however, and once again Weller couldn't help but notice the contrast between the woman who'd just proven to him moments before that she had extensive, professional level training in using all manner of guns, but who now looked like she was about to shatter from the weight of her emotions.

Without giving it any thought, he reached out and took one of her hands in his, noticing the look of surprise that was immediately evident in her face. He squeezed her hand gently, the look on his face once again revealing the very smallest trace of a smile. _Was she Taylor_? As much as he liked to think that she might be, that that was what had brought all this about, at that moment it didn't matter as much. Whoever she was, the look on her face said that she needed help.

"You want me to wait outside?" he asked in a whisper. Her face twisted slightly as she seemed to consider the option for half a second, but she shook her head quickly in response. She wanted to say something, but felt as though her tongue was literally tied in knots to match her stomach. "Okay, then I'm gonna be…" he glanced around, settling on the far end of the room, where Patterson stood by her equipment, all set up to receive the data from the scan, "over there." All Jane could do was nod, still unable to speak. He squeezed her hand one more time, then slowly let it go.

Patterson had looked up from her controls less than a minute before and couldn't help but see part of the exchange between Weller and Jane. She'd never seen Weller look quite so… what _was_ that look on his face, anyway? She'd known him for years, and she'd never seen him interact with anyone, coworker, subject, or civilian quite the way he did with Jane. Not that she found his behavior inappropriate… not at all. On the contrary, he just seemed… less of his usual, ultra-professional, slightly stand-offish, serious self. He just acted like… like he _knew_ her, which was strange in itself because he didn't – not really – since they'd only met a few days before.

No, when she thought to herself that he acted like he knew her, it wasn't in the same way he acted around any of the people that she'd ever seen him with before, no matter how well he _did_ know them. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something very… _sweet_ about it, for lack of a better word. It surprised her because Weller was a great guy, but she would never have used the word _sweet_ to describe him before. She said nothing about what she saw, just watched as Weller said something quietly to Jane that Patterson didn't catch, looked briefly in the direction of all of the equipment she'd set up, then gradually let go of the other woman's hand.

Now sensing Patterson watching him and suddenly feeling self-conscious, Weller reluctantly let go of Jane's hand and wandered toward where the blonde was standing. He hoped that this distance from Jane during the procedure might make her feel less self-conscious. He'd have left the room if she'd wanted him to, but he got the feeling that even if part of her wanted him not to be there, a bigger part of her, the part that seemed to be inexplicably calmed by his presence, was still reassured simply by the fact that he was in the room, despite the awkwardness of the situation.

His eyes stayed on Jane for a second before he turned and walked slowly away from where she stood, back toward Patterson. As he approached her, his face betrayed nothing. Patterson couldn't help but notice that suddenly he was the same Kurt Weller that she'd always known, with no trace of the look on his face from a moment before, when he'd looked at Jane.

Jane continued to stand on the platform, which felt icy beneath her feet, trying not to think too much about any of it. She was going to do what she had to do, and then it would be over with, as simple as that. Of course, it felt anything but simple. She was standing in a bathrobe in the FBI building, about to undergo a full body scan in front of two almost complete strangers, which would be documented and studied by countless others, every part of her body dissected with their eyes. No, it wasn't simple, but it was the only way to even begin to find out the answers she so desperately craved. That she so desperately _needed_.

 _Deep breaths_ , she told herself for the hundredth time.

"OK, Jane, you ready?" Patterson asked tentatively, not missing the anxiety on the other woman's face. Jane was just about to reply when suddenly Patterson jumped up, calling, "Oh! Hold on just a second…" She left her console and jogged across the room to the door that opened to the hallway. Jane watched her turn the lock on the door, and silently thanked the blonde for her foresight. What she definitely _didn't_ need was a bigger audience for this…

Within a few more seconds, Patterson was back at her workstation and looking back up at Jane. "Alright, I think we're good now," she told her, giving her an encouraging smile. "I'll hit the lights first. Then just toss the robe anywhere, just try to keep your feet on the marks on the platform and stay as still as you can, with your arms out like I showed you. It's probably going to look a little like a light show with the lasers." Patterson grinned at that last part. "It really does look kind of cool," she reiterated with a childish grin, trying to hide her enthusiasm for Jane's sake, but unable to stop it from spilling over. Jane smiled just a little at Patterson's infectious enthusiasm, nodding slightly and wishing that the whole thing was already over.

"Okay," Jane replied quietly, exhaling slowly. Weller noted the tension in her voice, and looked at Patterson for what would come next. From a switch beside her, Patterson cut the lights out in most of the room, the only lights that remained lit being the ones above where she and Weller sat. Jane resolutely anchored her feet to the places marked on the glass on which she stood, then untied the robe, tossing it gently down to the floor as she heard the machine whir to life and she felt herself begin to spin. The chilly air of the lab assaulted her entire body at once, and she attempted to remain still despite the sudden cold. She could feel goosebumps break out all over her, and wondered for a second whether that would effect that quality of the scan.

The blue lights began moving around her as well, and just for a second Jane forgot about her present situation and thought to herself that Patterson had been right, the lights _did_ look pretty cool. As the device faced her towards the far end of the room, where the monitors sat, she hazarded a quick glance at Weller and Patterson, who were both looking intently at one of the screens beside them. She was slightly relieved that even though she was clearly the main event in this strange performance, in another way, they weren't actually watching her at all.

Though she was focused on remaining still, Jane could also hear Patterson's voice floating towards her. The whole thing seemed like some kind of very strange dream. She heard herself being talked about as if she wasn't there, which was just one more reason she felt uncomfortable. Patterson and Weller were staring at one of the monitors, which was showing various views of some of her many tattoos, as Patterson spoke. "Her body is covered in cryptic symbols, map pieces, riddles… whoever did this to her has a very specific goal in mind. What that goal _is_ remains a mystery." Patterson turned back to look at Weller then. "I've got my best people on it. But this information is so varied, and so dense, it could take years to decode."

 _Years?!_ Jane wanted to break down and cry right there when she heard that word come out of Patterson's mouth.

Weller was listening to Patterson, but he had something he wanted to ask her that was distracting him from the rest of it. He still hadn't let go of the fact that Jane had that scar on the back of her neck, one very much like the one that Taylor Shaw had had as well. So far, he hadn't brought up his theory about Jane being Taylor to anyone in the office.

"I noticed a scar on the back of her neck," he said, waiting to see what Patterson would be able to tell him about it, if anything. The tech clicked a few times on her computer and an enhanced picture of the scar came up on the monitor.

"Yeah, that," Weller agreed, pointing at it. "Any idea how old that is?"

"Well, it's hard to tell with these things, but it's definitely not recent," Patterson assured him. This, of course, fit with his theory. He just nodded, digesting the information. They both stared at the screen as the scan finished, the machine slowly coming to a halt. "OK, Jane, we're done," Patterson called to her, still engrossed in all the data that she had collected.

Jane quickly jumped down to retrieve the robe from the floor, wrapping it around herself and holding her arms across her chest tightly. She wasn't upset with either Weller or Patterson for what she'd just been through, but she couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling of having had her entire body on display for the world to see, even though _the world_ was a pretty big exaggeration.

Weller waited until she had wrapped the robe around herself, pretending to look at the monitors with Patterson, then he walked up beside her, standing awkwardly and trying to read her expression. She turned and looked at him, attempting a smile, but was only able to summon one that fell far short of reaching her eyes.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. The look on his face was one of genuine concern.

She felt a sudden flood of gratitude then, and her smile deepened into a genuine one. She just nodded, adding, "I'm just glad to have that over with."

He nodded along with her for a second, then looked at his watch. "Why don't you go and get changed? We can start the next thing on our schedule as soon as you're ready."

Surprise flashed in Jane's eyes for a second as she realized that she should probably have asked for a copy of the day's schedule, considering how jam packed it seemed to be. But what else did she have to do? Nothing, of course. She could afford to go with the flow. And besides, all of these things, as unpleasant as they might be, were working toward the goal they shared – figuring out who she was and what had happened to her.

She recovered quickly and nodded at Weller. "Okay, just give me a minute," she told him.

"No rush," he assured her, again giving her the small Kurt Weller smile that no one else seemed to have the privilege of seeing. While he waited, he walked back to the other side of the room to see what Patterson was up to. He found her where he'd left her, staring at the monitors and clicking from one image to the next.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say this was better than Christmas to you," he told her with only a hint of teasing in his voice. The blonde looked up from her monitor for the first time since the scan had finished, her eyes sparkling.

"I mean, I know how uncomfortable all this is for Jane, but…" she trailed off, waving her hands from one monitor full of images to the next. "Just look at all of this! It's… unbelievable! It's like the ultimate puzzle to solve." Weller shook his head as he noted that Patterson's excitement only seemed to grow the more she looked at the images in front of her. He turned his head when he heard the door to the bathroom open and saw Jane emerge.

"Have fun," he told Patterson, to which she smiled widely as he began to walk back towards Jane.

"Oh, Jane!" Patterson called, moving quickly past Weller to get to Jane before she left the lab. Jane stopped and looked at her curiously. Patterson suddenly seemed to be at a loss for words, but she recovered quickly. "I just… I know you probably feel like a human guinea pig right about now," Patterson started, to which Jane nodded, smiling sadly.

 _That about sums it up_ , Jane thought to herself.

"But thank you so much for taking it in stride," Patterson continued earnestly. "I can't imagine being in your place, I really can't. Just… we're going to figure it out, okay? Weller can tell you, I _love_ puzzles, and I'm good at them, and this is the biggest one I've ever seen."

Jane smiled at Patterson, and was dismayed to feel tears gathering in her eyes. This was the first time someone besides Weller had gone out of their way to be nice to her, at least that she could remember. "Thanks," she whispered, smiling and hoping like hell that she could keep the tears she felt in her eyes from spilling down her cheeks. She glanced at Patterson once more, noticing a very similar look on the other woman's face. _Isn't it kind of her to be so emotional about someone she doesn't even know?_ Jane thought as she gave Patterson one more smile and then quickly ducked her head and headed toward the hall.

Weller followed her out, closing the door behind her and smiling slightly, shaking his head. "Patterson's always the emotional one of the group," he said by way of explanation for her behavior just a minute before.

Jane glanced back at him and smiled. "It was really nice of her to say that," she replied. "I guess I haven't gotten used to people being so nice to me yet," she added, her eyes darting up and down the hall. "Except you, of course." Her eyes moved slowly back up to meet his, slightly embarrassed by what she'd just said. She realized when her eyes met his that if she didn't know better, she would've sworn that she'd just made Special Agent Kurt Weller blush underneath the scruff on his face.

After a second's pause he regained his composure. Once again, he smiled at her, and it lit up his face. "You ready for the next thing on the agenda?" he asked her, choosing not to acknowledge her compliment. That was okay with her, since he'd obviously heard it.

"Lead the way," she told him.

With that, they were off through the labyrinth of hallways once again. Wherever they were going, Jane was fairly sure it would be more enjoyable than what she'd just done… and at least she wasn't going there alone, wherever it was.


	20. Too Close For Comfort

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 **Season 1, episode 2**

The next few hours were a blur. She found herself sparring with Weller first, terrified that some unexpected lethal ability would suddenly surface and that she'd hurt him. Weller, however, wasn't afraid, and kept pushing her not to hold back on his account. She had expected him to be strong, a formidable opponent, and he certainly was. The truth was, they seemed to be relatively evenly matched as far as skills. Just when Jane thought she had the upper hand and hesitated for a split second, once again with the fear of doing something that would hurt him, Weller would use it to his advantage and she would find that she was no longer in control. It was a nice change, she thought, to do something that came effortlessly to her. Everything else so far took _so much_ thinking.

Next Jane found herself shooting again, this time in a different room with a different weapon, but once again with Weller looking on from not far behind her. As she shot at the target, her mind suddenly flooded with black and white images, similar to the ones of the outdoor shooting range that she'd remembered before where she was watching herself, long haired and tattoo-less. These images were far more chilling, however, as she saw herself in a church, shooting a _nun_ , or at least someone dressed as a nun, in the head. The nun fell to the ground, the blood quickly pooling around her head as Jane looked on in terror.

Panic echoed through her as she watched the woman she knew to be herself as if she were watching a stranger.

 _I did that?_ she thought, terrified. _But WHY?_

This was very different from shooting at a target. She had shot another human being, _in the head_ , and watched them _die._ From the looks of it, it wasn't the first time, because the woman in her memory hadn't batted an eye at the scene. No, she had _intended_ to do that. That thought scared her just as much, if not more, than what she had seen herself do.

She turned around to look at Weller, desperate for a familiar face, something to tether her to reality. Weller, of course, took one look at the expression on her face and knew that something was wrong. He couldn't help but think that she looked like she'd seen a ghost, which made him wonder if she'd remembered something. After all, a ghost and an unexpected memory might seem, to Jane, to be the same thing.

"What is it, Jane?" he asked her. Concern was written all over her face at the sudden change in her expression. "Did you remember something?" Jane, however, didn't answer, just continued to stare wide-eyed ahead, slightly to the side of Weller's right shoulder as he stood facing her. If he didn't know better, he'd say that she was still seeing something, at least another flicker of it, before it appeared that her mind had disengaged from whatever it was once again. There was clearly something that was alarming her, but she still didn't utter a single word.

He watched her, wondering exactly what the right thing to do would be in that situation. In the short time that he'd known her, his first instinct had always been to make contact with her, generally without even thinking about what he was doing. He was about to take a step towards her to do just that and try to break the spell that she seemed to be under, when the door at the far end of the room banged open loudly, and Reade rushed in, breaking the tense silence.

"The hospital just called," Reade announced. "Chao's dead." And just like that, there was no time to dwell on whatever Jane had remembered, at least not at that moment. Jane snapped back to reality and Weller forgot, for the time being, about finding out what she had seen. The two of them set out behind Reade, leaving the room to take care of the more urgent matter of what had happened to Chao.

The team was heading to Brooklyn this time, trying to track down Major Gibson, their newest connection on the current case.

"Let's go," Weller said to Zapata and Reade, who were standing on either side of him in the screens room, having just been briefed by Patterson about their new lead.

"I'm coming with you," Jane piped up. She'd been standing just a step off to one side, but not so far away that she was left out of the discussion. She fell into step beside Weller as he began walking quickly towards the door.

To her surprise and relief, Weller glanced at her and nodded slightly. "Yes, you are," he agreed without argument. Jane couldn't help but smile inside, though she kept it hidden from the team. It may have been a small triumph, but for some reason, Weller agreeing so easily to let her come along felt like a major victory.

Reade was two steps in front of him, and turned around in surprise – no, _shock_ – as they walked. "She _is_?"

Mayfair was also confused by the sudden change. "You were dead against her going into the field yesterday," she observed in a calm, cool voice at almost the same time that Reade spoke.

Weller turned around to face Mayfair, who was still standing with Patterson where the others had been gathered by the screens a moment before, walking slowly back towards her. "I was wrong," Weller told her confidently, coming to a stop in front of his boss. "We don't know how the tattoos work yet. She should be there." Again, Jane couldn't felt but feel a sense of gratitude to Weller for taking her side.

Mayfair regarded Weller skeptically, her face revealing nothing. "It might help her retrieve her memory," Weller continued, "and we all know, she _can_ handle herself." Weller wasn't pleading, Jane noticed, but speaking matter-of-factly, as though he simply expected Mayfair to go along with his assessment. In that split second, she hoped that the agent's opinion would carry as much weight as Weller seemed to feel that it would.

Jane couldn't stay quiet any longer. "Please," she said from behind Weller's shoulder, "I can help figure this out." Mayfair just nodded, looking away. She clearly didn't like that she was agreeing to this. _She must really think a lot of Weller's judgement_ , Jane reasoned.

Weller nodded back at Mayfair. "Thank you," he said quietly as they turned to leave.

 _I just hope she doesn't make me regret this_ , Weller thought as he turned to go, Jane a step behind him.

They were at Ivan Musgrave's apartment building, walking up to his door – Reade first, then Zapata, Weller, and Jane behind him. Weller turned around and stopped Jane as she stood on the top step. "Jane. Just wait here for us, alright? Just until we get a read on the situation. Okay?"

She didn't argue, just rolled her eyes slightly and bit the inside of her cheek in frustration. _Again_? she wanted to complain. While she knew that she wasn't an FBI agent and couldn't be expected to be treated like one, she was quickly getting sick of being thought of as helpless. As much as she _had been told_ that Weller did things like this for her protection, she still hated to be made to wait on the sidelines. It wasn't that she didn't believe him, exactly, she just felt like he was still underestimating her, which was frustrating. This time, however, she held her protests inside. She'd already won at least one battle, having Weller vouching for the importance of her going into the field, after all.

She watched from the top step as the team approached Musgrave's apartment door at the end of the hall. "Major Musgrave, this is the FBI," Weller called authoritatively. "Major Musgrave?"

There was no answer. That was when Jane caught movement out of the corner of her eye from the stairs below her, and turned to see a bald man that looked a lot like the photograph of Musgrave himself. He was standing on the landing a few steps below her, holding a laundry basket. "Ivan Musgrave?" Jane asked. In a split second, the man had dropped the laundry basket in front of him and began bolting down the stairs.

Jane took off after him, jumping over the bend in the railing where the stairs went around the corner to the landing to save time. "Weller!" she called as she took off after him, knowing that waiting for the team – which Weller would, of course, have wanted her to do, could mean that they'd lose him. No, it was up to her to at least slow the man down until the team could catch up.

Musgrave made it to the bottom of the stairs and around the corner before Jane caught up with him, slamming him against a wall and then forcing him into the door of the apartment beside them, which had just opened. "Hey!" yelled the young woman who had just come through the door, startled when the two strangers launched themselves into her apartment and the door slammed behind them. Jane and Musgrave took turns knocking each other down as they went deeper into the apartment, slamming into walls and knocking things over.

Meanwhile, Weller and the rest of the team had reached the bottom of the stairs, and headed for the woman who was standing outside her apartment door, still looking confused. "Hey, did they go in there?" Weller asked her. The woman could only nod, dumbstruck, wondering what in the world was going on. The door was locked and the woman had been too stunned to take out her key. Weller, of course, couldn't stop to wait for her to unlock the door. Instead, he took a step back and kicked it in easily, the thin piece of wood falling in under the force of the blow against it. The team followed the sounds of struggle down the hall, Weller first, Reade and Zapata behind him.

There they found Jane and Musgrave, both laying on the floor, with Jane using a stereo cord to subdue the man and appearing dangerously close to strangling him. "Jane! Let him go!" Weller called quickly. She obliged, rolling onto her side and breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight.

By the time Jane hauled herself to her feet, Weller had Musgrave in handcuffs behind his back, face flat against the floor until Weller yanked him up roughly, turning him over to Reade, who led him out of the apartment. With Musgrave taken care of, he swiveled to face Jane, who stood in front of him, trying to catch her breath.

"You okay?" he asked. Jane, still recovering from the exertion of the fight, simply nodded from behind the dark strands of her hair, which had fallen in front of her face. Her muscles were on fire over most of her body, but she didn't complain. After all, it was nothing major. She walked toward Weller, who watched her carefully as she passed him, then followed her out of the living room and down the hall, out of the unlucky woman's apartment as she just stood and stared after them. The woman stood wide eyed and open mouthed, afraid to say anything, for a second longer. When they'd taken no more than three steps past her, she ran back inside her apartment, anxious to assess the damage, and closed the door noisily behind her.

Weller, only a step behind Jane, extended his right arm forward to her shoulder, tugging slightly so that she came to a stop, and tugging again so that she turned around to face him. He withdrew his hand, but looked her in the eyes questioningly. He didn't need to ask, his eyes have already done it for him.

She smiled at him unconvincingly, nodding slightly, and, seeing that Weller wasn't buying it, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Weller, I'm fine," she insisted, holding up her hands in the air, knuckles facing him. "See? No blood this time." He grimaced, recalling the fight at Chao's apartment and the bloody state that Jane's knuckles had been in afterwards.

He grabbed one of her hands gently in his own and took half a step forward for a closer inspection, his thumb barely touching the center of the back of her hand, which was bruised from the previous fight but somehow otherwise unharmed. His other four fingers made only the slightest contact with the palm of her hand underneath, hidden from her view. She slowly lowered her other hand to her side as her exasperation changed to amazement. She could simply not understand why her well-being was so important to him – though she'd have been lying if she'd said that she didn't enjoy the feeling at all.

"I'm _fine,_ " she insisted quietly, and her voice snapped him back to reality. The stormy expression hadn't left his face, and now it shifted from her hand to her eyes. He just nodded then, seeming to finally accept her self-assessment.

He glanced down at her hand as if he was surprised to see himself holding it, and let go gently. "Okay then, let's go," he mumbled gruffly, catching her eye one more time before turning back towards the door that led outside from the lobby, where Reade had just appeared with Musgrave in tow.

"You two coming already, or what?" Reade asked sarcastically. The look on his face matched his tone perfectly. He simply couldn't believe that Jane was being let out into the field with them, and the effect that she had on Weller… well, he just wasn't himself with her.

Weller pushed past Reade and Musgrave, emerging in front of them into the sunlight and stopping there on the sidewalk. Musgrave was going to answer his questions, plain and simple. The rest of the team filed out behind him, stopping in a small circle, all focused on Musgrave.

Jane hung back, knowing that though she may have the biggest stake in this of all of them, this was the time for her to observe, not participate. Besides, for the moment she was content in the knowledge that without her, they may not have caught Musgrave at all. However, as Musgrave talked, it came out that he had been the one who had turned Gibson in, and in a flash it became clear to them what was happening.

Just as they realized the danger that Musgrave was in, and because they were standing with him, that they were _all_ in as well, Jane suddenly saw the bearded man from her visions in the woods. He was _real,_ and he was standing nearby, staring at her from beside the building! Everyone else, of course, was completely absorbed in the more immediate danger they were in, having just realized that there were likely about to be struck by a missile fired by a rogue military drone. "Weller," Jane said urgently, but Weller wasn't listening. Suddenly he was pushing Jane back toward the door of the building, even as she struggled urgently against him.

"No! No, wait! That's the man from the woods!" But Weller wasn't hearing her. The only thing he could think of was that they had to get back inside, _now_ , that their safety, their _lives_ , depended on it. "He's standing right there!" Jane managed to get out as Weller finally pushed her back inside the doorway.

Before she had a chance to get her balance from the inertia of Weller's shoving, the air around them seemed to explode. The noise was deafening, the air choked with smoke, and all she could feel was pain and disorientation as she was slammed to the ground by a force far stronger than any human assailant could have been.

All Weller knew was that he'd managed to get Jane into the building, but literally the second they were across the threshold, he felt himself thrown to the floor of the lobby by an explosion. Seconds passed in which he couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't hear… he could only smell smoke and feel the ache of every muscle in his body from the impact with the ground, could only hope desperately that his team was unharmed as he waited for the smoke to clear, trying desperately to catch his breath.

 _Jane…_ his mind screamed…


	21. The Truth

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: Sorry, inspiration was slow to come for this chapter, but I eventually wrestled it out of my head. Now that the new episodes are back on, it's strange to look back at episode 2, when they barely knew each other… and yet, the connection was always there. Hope you enjoy this chapter!_

 **Season 1, episode 2**

Jane stood in the street outside the building that had sheltered them from the blast. The front façade had been severely damaged, the explosion having occurred just outside the front doors, and who knew how much more damage had occurred beyond what was obvious from outside. Really, they were lucky that more of it hadn't come down around them. Or _on top_ of them, for that matter. Really, they were just lucky to be alive, in general.

The smoke was still floating through the air as she looked around numbly, taking in the devastation around her. The metal skeletons of several burned out cars sat by the curb, what little was left of them still on fire. Debris was strewn everywhere. Large and small chunks of glass and metal, as well as piles of unrecognizable ash, covered every inch of the ground for a one block radius. The body of a man, who had unfortunately not known to take cover, was sprawled out on the street. Further down the road, there was another, also clad in a suit. She tried not to look any farther, not to see any more.

It was overwhelming, to say the least. Her eyes continued to dart everywhere, unable to rest on any one thing for more than half a second. She noted that nothing was moving except the smoke that threatened to choke her. If they hadn't gotten through that doorway, if Weller hadn't _gotten them_ through that doorway, they may have ended up as nothing but charred remains, or at the very least, in the same state as the man now lying in the road, dead. Inside, she shivered at the thought.

Her eyes landed on the spot where the bearded man, the one from her memories, had stood only seconds before the explosion, just before Weller had pulled her inside. _What had happened to him?_ she wondered. It was important that he was okay. No, it was more than important. After all, they had known each other somehow. He was one of the only real connections to who she was. She just had to _find_ him. But how?

When Weller followed her out of the building a minute or so later, she only vaguely heard the crunch of his boots on the rubble-laden ground. She didn't even register the fact that the sound came from nearby. It was like distant background noise, secondary to her roaring thoughts. Then suddenly, he was standing beside her, looking around at the scene before them with a similarly shell-shocked, albeit less terrified expression. She didn't look directly at him – her eyes were still searching frantically for signs of life, signs of the bearded man, taking in what had happened as her brain struggled to process it all. That man from her memory had been close enough that she could have called out to him. Would he have been able to survive the blast that caused this much destruction? Had he been able to get away?

There were sirens in the distance, coming closer and closer by the second. Jane almost jumped when she heard noise nearby and turned to find Zapata and Reade, with Musgrave in tow, who had seemed to suddenly appear behind her. She'd been so consumed by her thoughts, she hadn't heard them approach, despite the noise that that three additional pairs of shoes made as they walked through the rubble. All of them, like her, were disheveled and covered in streaks of dirt from head to toe, all holding themselves up with the soreness of people who had been knocked to the ground without warning by the force of an explosion, which was exactly what had happened.

Weller had heard them, however, and he was already back in work mode, conversing with the other agents while simultaneously holding his phone to his ear as he dialed Mayfair's number to check in about what had just happened. All of their faces reflected varying degrees of shock, something that wasn't often there, Jane noticed. She supposed that hers did, as well, even more so.

Weller ended the call with Mayfair, glancing around quickly once again. "We need to get Musgrave back to headquarters," he said in a tight voice. The others nodded in agreement, all of them scanning the blast radius nervously. They'd almost been killed just standing outside in the open beside this man only a few moments before. The drone might no longer be a threat to his life – its operator may or may not have simply assumed that he'd been killed – and therefore also to _their_ lives, but that wasn't to say that there wasn't another danger out there. It stood to reason that anyone who was willing and able to use a _drone_ just to take out Musgrave might try again, using the same drone or a similarly lethal means if they knew that he was still alive.

Weller looked at the man at the center of the current situation sternly, raising one eyebrow. "Any problem with coming with us and answering some questions?" he asked, just daring Musgrave to argue after they'd just saved his life.

But to his credit, though he'd tried to run from them initially, Musgrave just shook his head, appearing even more shocked than Jane. He was still confused about how the agents had suddenly known to dive back inside and therefore save all of them from the explosion, and for the moment he just stood quietly. He seemed to be okay with waiting for them to figure it all out, shaking his head unconsciously in disbelief.

 _That explosion was meant for_ _ **me**_ _,_ was all he could repeat to himself.

"No," Musgrave replied simply, overwhelmed.

Weller looked pointedly from Reade to Zapata. "Reade, Zapata, you two stay and coordinate with the police. It sounds like they'll be here any second," he said, noting that the scream of police sirens was growing louder by the second. "Jane and I will take Musgrave back with us, find out what he knows. We'll see you back at headquarters." The agents nodded at each other, each having their orders. Jane just stood looking from one of them to another, then back at the empty space where the bearded man had been. She'd _heard_ Weller, but was processing his words slowly.

 _We're leaving? But I need answers! I need to find the bearded man!_ her mind screamed.

While she desperately wanted to run down the side streets and look for him, now before it was too late, even if she _had_ been ready to talk about her memory, it wasn't the priority right now. The team had more immediate concerns. That didn't matter, of course, because she _wasn't_ ready to talk about it, so she had no excuse to do anything besides fall in step with Weller. After all, randomly charging off down the street would elicit more than a few questions from the lead agent and the rest of the team.

Feeling his eyes on her, Jane looked back at Weller just as he cleared his throat and spoke to her.

"Jane," he mumbled to get her attention.

He tilted his head in the direction of the car and, seeing her nod slightly, began walking briskly, with Musgrave close beside him. Jane took quick steps, attempting to keep up with Weller, who was now clearly on a mission to get the other man to safety as quickly as possible. The two black SUVs in which the team had arrived had, thankfully, been parked around the corner and therefore outside of the small blast radius in front of the building. Musgrave was ushered to the backseat as Jane climbed into the passenger seat beside Weller, and within minutes they were on the road back to FBI headquarters.

The air in the car was tense, which wasn't much of a surprise given what they had just been through. Weller, for one, knew that he wouldn't be able to relax until they had Musgrave safely inside of the FBI building. Almost being blown up? Well, it didn't happen every day, but it was part of the job. It wasn't as thought it had never happened before. It had been a shock, and yes, strangely, it had scared the hell out of him at the time, which he hadn't understood at first. As crazy as he knew it sounded, almost being blown up, while not any fun, had long since stopped being as big a deal as it would have been to the average person. It was simply one of the risks of his job. It happened.

Still, this time had been different. He realized with a start that it had been so much more stressful because his first instinct had been to worry about Jane. She was the variable that had never been there before.

 _Of course I worried about her! It's my job to protect her_ , his mind protested defensively.

 _Right… sure,_ _ **that's**_ _why you felt so panicked about whether she was okay,_ the other voice in his head replied immediately. _Because of your_ _ **job**_ **.**

He chose to ignore the sarcastic tone that the voice inside his head used, also ignoring the fact that deep down, he knew that it wasn't just because of his professional responsibility that he'd been terrified that something had happened to her. Of course, there was no way he'd ever have admitted that to anyone.

Glancing to his right, Weller saw Jane staring out the window beside her, lost in thought somewhere a million miles away, more than likely struggling to process what had just happened. It was perfectly logical, he decided, to attribute the stormy look in her eyes to the fact that they'd just nearly been blown up. Whether or not she had actually experienced something similar, to her it was the first time. He tried to put himself in her shoes, and imagined how overwhelmed she must feel – not only at that moment, of course, but then even more so than usual.

Jane was far tougher than the average person, but even so, Weller was concerned about how this was going to affect her. Not only did she _not_ have the experience and training of a federal agent, she didn't have the life experience of even an average adult. She had functional memory of how to walk and talk and _exist_ in society, but not of how to deal with any of the situations that were thrown at her. She had no context for how to process any of it. All she had was a few days' worth of memories with which to compare the day's experiences. All things considered, Weller didn't find it strange for her to be lost in her own thoughts. He was actually surprised that she was doing as well as she was with it all.

And yet, whatever training she'd had in the part of her life she didn't remember, combined with her natural determination, everything he'd seen of her so far made him think that she'd get through it okay. Whether it was learned or instinctive, Jane seemed to possess a strength as fierce as a warrior. It was obvious that she wasn't unbreakable, of course, and that side of her brought out a protectiveness in Weller that he couldn't remember feeling in himself since he had been ten years old. Not since…

 _Don't go there, Weller,_ he told himself. _You have too much work to do to go down that road. Not now._

And because he'd forced that little girl out of his head so many times over the years, out of sheer necessity, in order to function in his job and in his life, he was able to push his thoughts back to the task at hand. He had no allusions about his baggage, however. He knew that he would revisit that thought later.

Where Jane would likely need a lot of time to process their near death experience, Weller, on the other hand, would be physically sore for a day or two from being knocked to the ground by the explosion, but considered himself to be otherwise relatively mentally unphased by it, all things considered. He already felt himself getting his footing back, felt what was basically the default setting in his brain – "work mode" – re-engaging as he thought of the steps that came next. _Assess the damage. Gather information. Make a plan._

Jane's thoughts were so loud in her head, she was surprised that Weller couldn't hear them. While he was right about her having trouble processing what had happened, of course he couldn't have known that it wasn't for exactly the reasons he thought. Sure, she _was_ slightly traumatized by the fact that she'd just almost been blown up. It was hard not to be. After all, if not for Weller's insistence that she get inside, despite her protests, she would simply no longer _exist_. That fact alone was pretty significant, and not easy to wrap her brain around. Between that and the physical trauma – she felt like she hurt pretty much everywhere… not, of course, that she would let that stop her from doing what she had to do, stubborn as she was – she had a lot to think about.

But all that took up only a fraction of her attention at that moment. Instead, her mind pulled obsessively at every tiny thread, every detail, every aspect, of her memory of the bearded man, the man she had seen only a short distance away from her – there in real life! – the same man from her memories of the shooting range in the woods. _He_ would have the answers to her questions – at least some of them. Of course, he also raised more questions. Who _was_ he? How did hefit into all of this? And why was he following her?

She'd tried to tell Weller about him, in that second when he was standing right there, to tell him that he was the same one from her memories, but of course that had been the same moment when he'd been pulling her back inside to safety. Weller hadn't been able to listen at the time, since he was too busy saving their lives. She was glad that he hadn't listened, knowing what she knew now. But for some reason, now that they were safely sitting beside each other in the car with no distractions except their thoughts, for some reason she couldn't bring herself to tell him. She couldn't explain _why_. He had proven to be nothing but sympathetic and trustworthy so far – more than sympathetic, actually, to the point where if she hadn't know better, she'd have thought that they had some special connection… which, obviously, was impossible… And yet even so, it was there.

 _So then_ , she wondered, _why will the words suddenly not come out?_

Jane turned to look at Weller in the seat beside her, studying him as he stared forward at the road, and tried to identify what was stopping her from telling him about the man she'd seen. It didn't make sense.

He happened to glance over at her then, seeing her movement in his peripheral vision, and he couldn't help but think that she looked… haunted. Almost desperate. His eyes swung quickly back to the road, as safety dictated.

"Jane?" he asked, making her name a question without adding any other words, glancing back at her again quickly with concern.

She shook her head without hesitation, understanding what he was asking. "I'm fine," she whispered, attempting to make her face look as neutral as possible, though rather unsuccessfully.

Although he couldn't tell what the problem was, it was clear that she was not "fine." Instinctively he knew that there was something more going on in her head than just thinking about the explosion – not that that wouldn't have been enough to upset most people – but he let it go for the time being. He wanted to believe that she'd talk to him about whatever it was when she was ready. Besides, they had a passenger with them, so it wasn't a great time to talk about whatever was bothering her.

For the rest of the drive back to FBI headquarters he glanced at her frequently, but found that each time, she was simply staring out the window, her face unreadable. Her mind was obviously somewhere far away.

She had seen the questioning look in his eyes. The fact that he hadn't vocalized an actual question didn't matter, because it was obvious to her that he knew something was wrong. But as much as she wanted to tell him what she had seen, the words remained stuck in her throat. When he didn't press her to talk, she was surprised but relieved at the same time.

Then again, she told herself, Musgrave was in the car with them, so it wasn't as though they could talk in confidence. Honestly, she'd forgotten that he was in the seat behind them at all, and she was suddenly glad that she'd been unable to tell him about the bearded man. Despite not knowing FBI protocol, she knew it would be a bad idea to talk about such a sensitive issue in front of someone with absolutely no need to know that information. If Weller asked later, she could pretend that that was the reason for her hesitation to talk – assuming that she decided to tell him the truth later, of course. Consequently, they rode the rest of the way in silence as she tried to reconcile the thoughts that continued to assault her brain.

Back inside the FBI building, she was unsure what to do next, never having been in this particular situation. Almost as if on cue, Weller said something to Musgrave, who nodded, then he stepped a few paces away, indicating that she should follow him.

"I'm taking him to Interrogation room 1," he told her.

Nodding slightly, she thought back to the good deal of time she'd spent in that very room not too long ago at all. She remembered the sign outside the door from each time she'd been escorted in and out of the room.

"There's an adjoining room where you can watch everything on the monitors. See if you pick up on anything." He looked down at her with concern that she could feel just as strongly as she could see it in his eyes.

"I'll be right there, I just need… a minute," she mumbled, not even sure what she was saying.

He looked at her intensely, trying to measure whether there was anything in particular that she needed to hear at that moment, anything he could reassure her about, but her face was reflected too many emotions to isolate just one. So instead, giving her the slightest hint of a smile, he nodded and turned back to Musgrave.

 _I need to tell him_ , she continued to think to herself as he walked away. At the same time, she wasn't sure if she could… or if she _should_. What would he think of her? She was a little bit horrified by herself and what she had seen herself do in her black and white flashback just then, and she wasn't sure she wanted to put it all into words, to make it any more real than it already was.

And then, just like that, he nodded at her once again and then turned to escort Musgrave to the interrogation room for questioning. She took a detour, needing a few minutes away from everyone else, just as she'd told Weller. That much, at least, was the truth.


	22. Terrible Things

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: I'm having trouble dealing with the angst between these two on the new episodes since the mid-season break, but I'm hanging in there. It's kind of nice to revisit this time at the beginning, before things all spiraled out of control, actually… Thanks for reading!_

 **Season 1, episode 2**

The now familiar labyrinth of halls were unusually empty for that time of day, for which Jane was extremely grateful. Walking without an exact destination, she tried in vain to process what she had seen that day. A dull ache was forming in her head, and couldn't help but wonder if she had an actual injury from being knocked to the ground by the explosion, if she was simply overwhelmed, or, equally possibly, if it was a combination of both.

She felt many things at once just then. The black and white visions – no, the _memories_ – wouldn't leave her head. Instead, they continued to swirl there, making her slightly nauseous. She still felt traumatized from the explosion, of course, along with the shock of having seen the bearded man in person. Though she had no idea who she'd been before her memory had been wiped, other than the few horrible images that had come back to her so far, she couldn't help but wonder what _other_ terrible things she had done. What else should she be feeling guilty about? She simply couldn't make sense of any of it. No wonder her head was starting to hurt.

Her wandering brought her to the locker room and she considered changing out of her dirty clothes and into a spare set she had stashed there, but decided against it. Really, she didn't have the energy. She considered how nice a shower would feel after being covered with dirt and grime since the explosion. After all, she was still waiting to find out what the team's next move was… but that would take even more energy, far more than she felt like she had at the moment. Besides, who knew how much time she had before they'd be on the move again. Not only that, but she knew that she really should get down to interrogation. Weller had most likely already started questioning Musgrave.

So instead of changing clothes, she brushed herself off as best she could, taking off her jacket and shaking it out. Moving to the sink, she splashed cold water on her face to at least clean the smudges of dirt away, then put her jacket back on. Inspecting her reflection in the mirror, she thought that she looked a _little_ less like she'd almost been blown up. It would have to do.

Down the hall, she peeked quickly into Patterson's lab and was surprised to find the room empty. _Strange_ , she thought. Of course, she hadn't really wanted to unload her secret to the other woman. She didn't really want to confide in _anyone_ at that moment. No, there was just something reassuring about Patterson, even just her presence. It was probably because the blonde was one of the only people – along with Weller – who didn't look at her like she was a freak or a threat to national security, which she appreciated immensely.

Suddenly realizing that she had been wandering for longer than she had intended to, she knew that it was time to get down to interrogation and see if Weller was getting anything out of Musgrave. Feeling slightly more composed than she had when they'd arrived, she set out in that direction. Her pace slowed as she passed by Mayfair's office, but she was relieved to see the other woman on the phone and focused on her conversation. For the moment, at least, there would be no questions about what had happened to them at the scene. Not that she couldn't easily be summoned back there later, of course, but Jane would take the respite now and worry about the rest of it later.

The observation room beside the interrogation room was dark when she entered, and Zapata was already sitting in front of the console, looking just as battle-worn as the rest of them. She, however, looked far more exhausted and far more overwhelmed than Weller. Even so, she had the same look of fierce determination that she always seemed to wear, in Jane's limited experience. Jane wondered if _she_ looked as rough as Zapata did, or if she looked even worse. Closing the door quietly behind her, she walked forward and took the empty seat beside her.

"You and Reade made great time," Jane observed tentatively as they watched Weller sit down caddy corner to Musgrave at the metal table. Zapata did _not_ look like she wanted to talk. Jane couldn't blame her, as she didn't really want to talk either. Well, not to anyone who was currently in the FBI building, anyway. She would have loved to have asked the bearded man from her memories some questions right about then, but unfortunately that wasn't an option.

Zapata nodded, not taking her eyes off of Weller and Musgrave. "There wasn't much for us to do at the scene. Pretty much everything in the blast radius was destroyed. No one who was in the immediate area survived." She paused for a second, and Jane stifled a gasp of surprise. "There were ten fatalities," Zapata continued as Jane's eyes widened in the dark. " _Ten_."

Jane had no law enforcement training, not even the experience of watching the evening news over the course of an adult lifetime. She didn't remember the horror of 9/11 or any other terrorist attack. To her, the idea that Gibson had killed ten people was far more overwhelming than it would have been for most people – thought of course, ten deaths was never _nothing_.

Zapata sighed, shaking her head but not taking her eyes off of the monitors in front of them. "We left the rest of the clean-up for the cops to deal with. That's how we got back so fast." Her voice was almost devoid of emotion, or maybe it was just exhaustion. Jane just nodded, swallowing hard and turning to focus on three video feeds of Weller and Musgrave from the next room.

The women sat in silence in the dark room, listening to Weller ask Musgrave about Gibson. Gibson had hijacked the drone and then kidnapped the daughter of an avionics specialist in order to have the other man control the drone to do his bidding. Musgrave was cooperating fully, and yet, there was no way to know if the information would be enough, or if it was all too little, too late – both for the girl, and for them to catch Gibson before he did something even worse than he'd already done.

"So Gibson was a good guy. He just wanted the killing to stop," Jane mused aloud.

Without looking at her, Zapata replied, "He killed ten innocent people this morning. Good guys don't do that." She continued to stare at the screens. Jane glanced at her, surprised by the certainty with which she'd made that pronouncement. The people that she worked with at the FBI had seemed to know better than most people that life was very rarely black and white, good or evil, all one or all the other. Or at least, it had seemed that way to Jane. And yet, Zapata seemed awfully sure of herself.

 _What would she think of me if she knew what I've done? And what else_ _ **have**_ _I done? And what does it say about_ _ **me**_ _?_ The questions swirled in Jane's head as she regarded the agent beside her unsurely, thankful that Zapata hadn't taken her eyes off the monitors and therefore didn't see the uncertainty and fear in her eyes.

"You don't think good people ever do terrible things?" Jane asked, attempting to keep her voice from betraying her. Was it all really as black in white in Zapata's head as her comment had seemed to suggest? She hoped that the agent would at least admit that there was some room for gray areas, for exceptions.

Of course, Zapata had no idea that Jane was referring to herself and fragments of her own past for which she had no context. It was impossible for Jane to know if her answer would have been different if she _had_ realized it… though Jane could guess exactly what Zapata would have thought of _her_ as well, if she'd only known Jane's secret.

"I think terrible people do terrible things," Zapata replied evenly, without a hint of doubt or uncertainty. "and the good people stop them." Simple as that.

Jane looked at her, now even more worried, her emotions written plainly on her face. She was once again grateful that Zapata was watching Weller and Musgrave instead of her. Surely, if she _had_ been watching her, she would have been able to see straight through to the truth about the bearded man, the church, the shooting range in the woods… all of it. Jane felt her muscles tighten involuntarily from her rising stress level.

Just for a second, Jane found herself back in that church, everything around her once again black and white. All she could see was her hand, pulling the trigger and shooting the person dressed as a nun, point blank, in the head. It was in the past, another life, and yet… it had been _her_ , and she knew it. She had no idea what or why or how or who the person was that she'd shot… the one thing that she did know was that it had been _her_ who'd done the shooting. That knowledge was enough to make her sick. Blinking back the memory, which had lasted only a few seconds, she looked away from Zapata, back to the monitors, attempting to focus on what the men were saying.

There was no denying that she had done something terrible, and it seemed likely that, based on the lack of emotion that she'd seen in her own eyes in the memory, it had been far from the only time she'd done that sort of thing. In Zapata's mind, that automatically made her a terrible person – there was no recourse, no extenuating circumstances, no context. None of those things would have mattered.

 _I'm a monster_ , she thought, feeling herself cringe inwardly.

But she didn't _feel_ like a monster… and yet, how could she reconcile her actions with her thoughts? How could she possibly _not_ be a terrible person, a monster, some sort of psychopath even, knowing what she knew about herself? Besides, it seemed unlikely that a psychopath would feel like a monster either. They wouldn't see themselves as disturbed… just as she didn't. Or did she? She couldn't figure out _how_ she felt.

She was not making herself feel better. On the contrary, her stomach clenched tighter and tighter. The more she thought about it, the more she feared that it was all visible on her face as well.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor in the next room brought her back to reality. She'd missed the last thing that Musgrave had said to Weller, but whatever it had been, Weller was now standing up and striding out of the room. Jane and Zapata stood up as well, just as Weller entered, his face set in his trademark serious, all business expression.

Jane told herself to push her own baggage aside and focus on the present, on the case. Whatever Zapata would have thought of her if she'd known the truth, it didn't matter just then. She couldn't change the past and whatever the old version of herself had done, but she could try to help the team, try to make it right, and maybe the truth would never have to come out. It seemed like a long shot, but then again, so was waking up naked in Times Square with no memory of your life. But there would be time to brood over her own life later. There was simply no time for that now.

"Zapata, Jane, get Reade and get ready to move. I'm going to talk to Mayfair and the General. Based on what Musgrave said, I don't think we have much time," Weller told them urgently. They nodded, leaving the room to go and find Reade.

XXX

Weller and Jane were in his SUV, headed to a construction site in Brooklyn where they hoped to find Gibson. Zapata and Reade had gone to the other possible site, both of which places where he had worked in the past. Chances were, Gibson was at one of the two sites. If he wasn't, they might not be able to find him in time, because there wasn't much of it left for them to waste on mistakes. They now had less than an hour before they suspected that Gibson was going to hit the building that housed the drone pilot headquarters – which, coincidentally, was the building in which _their_ office was located as well – timing the strike for the shift change and allowing for the greatest possible impact. If he succeeded, the casualties would be catastrophic.

They'd gotten into the car without a word, both prisoners of their own thoughts. They were out of the parking garage and lurching through what counted as only a little traffic for New York City at that time of day – which was still frustratingly slow – before the tense silence in the car registered with either of them. Weller noticed it first. Glancing at Jane as they waited at a red light, he cleared his throat quietly. Jane didn't seem to hear him. She appeared to be completely lost in her own thoughts, so he decided to try again. "Jane," he said tentatively, waiting until he had her attention.

She hadn't even realized that she'd zoned out, and she'd forgotten where she was during those few minutes when her mind had wandered. Looking over at Weller, startled, she wasn't sure if he'd said something, or if she'd just imagined it. "Sorry? Did you say something?" she asked him.

Attempting a smile – which for Weller, never translated to more than a slightly less unfriendly face, _except_ when he was around Jane – he shook his head slightly. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice suddenly softer than it had been before. It was a ridiculous question, he knew, all things considered, but he couldn't think of anything better.

As Jane tried to think of how to answer his question, which _should_ have been a simple thing to do, everything she was feeling passed over her face almost at once. Composing herself as quickly as she could, she nodded quickly and replied, "Yeah… at least, I think so." She even managed a weak smile.

Weller could see that there was something on her mind – and really, who could blame her, considering everything that had happened in that one day alone, never mind in all the time since she'd woken up in Times Square – but he decided to let it go for the time being. He was so focused on getting them to their destination quickly, and on running everything about their case through his mind over and over, trying to think of anything they'd overlooked, that he couldn't quite focus on Jane's mental state at that moment. Not that he didn't care that she seemed upset, he just couldn't think of anything he could do about it just then. Silence descended over the car once again.

Weller continued to weave through traffic, with the SUV's lights and siren blaring as they went. They were passing over a bridge, Jane noticed, when she surfaced from her thoughts again and glanced at him beside her. He stared forward with a stony expression. She imagined that he was undoubtedly focused on the traffic and the stress of getting to Gibson before it was too late, which was no small responsibility. After all, who knew how many people's lives were at risk if they didn't?

The tension in the air was stifling, but she couldn't think of anything to say to him. Neither of them spoke as they wove their way towards Brooklyn. The day had been full of enough unpleasant surprises already, and Jane wasn't sure she wanted to know what was coming next. This kind of day may have been all in a day's work in the FBI, but Jane, of course, was not trained as an FBI agent. She couldn't help but wonder how they dealt with this kind of stress day in and day out, because it was wearing her out already. Then again, she reminded herself, this was more than a little extra personal for her.

The more she sat and thought about it, the more she desperately needed to tell Weller the truth – at least some of it. It felt as though the lies – no, really it was more the things she was hiding from him than actual _lies,_ but that was only a small difference when it came down to it – were suddenly building up more quickly than she could process them.

Though she may not have known Weller very long, she felt the need to be honest with him, despite her fear of how he would react to the truth. After all, unlike most people who, by adulthood, had kept many different secrets from many different people throughout their lives, _she_ couldn't remember ever keeping anything from anyone before, and she hated the feeling it gave her in the pit of her stomach.

Swallowing hard, she took the plunge, staring out the front window of the SUV because she was momentarily unable to look at him. "I lied to you this morning." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she'd even finished forming them in her head. He turned to stare at her for a second, and she slowly met his eyes, but his steely glare revealed nothing. She could tell that he was waiting for her to continue. Before she could find the words to continue, however, he was forced to turn back and focus on the road.

Weller was momentarily caught off guard. Of course, he was worried when she said that she'd lied to him. He knew so little about her, and he needed to be able to trust her. He _did_ trust her, in fact, despite the fact that he really had no good reason to do so. It was just… a feeling. That connection that they'd shared from the beginning. For a second, her words had echoed through his head.

" _I lied to you this morning." She lied to me? This morning?_

He racked his brain, trying to remember what she'd told him that morning. It was hard to remember where yesterday had ended and today had begun. Inside, he tried to control an uneasy feeling. After all, he had pretty much thrown protocol out the window when it came to Jane – because what exactly _was_ the protocol in this situation? He'd trusted her from almost the first moment he'd seen her, based on nothing but a feeling. His team had been skeptical of her, but he never had. She had no evidence to offer that she didn't remember her life, after all, nothing but a body covered in tattoos and a claim that her memory had been wiped. Only a few days later, here she was, out in the field with him, for God's sake. Had it been a mistake? It wasn't impossible… she could have played them all. So what had she lied about, exactly?

She looked at him for a second longer after he'd turned away before looking away again herself. It felt easier to say this when they weren't looking at each other. "This morning at the shooting range, I did remember something," she confessed quietly. It wasn't everything, but she felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders.

Weller relaxed slightly as well. He didn't understand _why_ she'd lied about that, but it wasn't anything too serious… and surely, there must have been a reason. "That's good…" he replied hesitantly, slightly thrown off for a second. "What was it?"

Jane stared at her lap for a few seconds, gathering the courage to speak again. She'd expected the question – it was only logical that he'd want details – and yet, how could she tell him what she'd seen herself do? Not by accident. Not in self-defense, at least not that she could see. No, this was horrible… but she had to tell him. _Come on_ , she told herself. _Out with it._

But she couldn't do it. Not yet, anyway. She looked back up at him hesitantly, and even though he wasn't looking at her directly, Weller could see how upset she was. "Something unforgiveable," she said miserably. He glanced at her, and the look on her face was heartbreaking.

 _What could she possibly have remembered that had been so bad?_ he wondered.

He wanted nothing more than to be able to say or do something – _anything_ – to reassure her. He looked at the road, then back at Jane, his concern for her growing. More than anything, he wished he had the time to pull over and talk to her about this so that he could give her his full attention, but that was simply not an option at the moment.

Instead of telling him exactly what she'd seen, she tried a more indirect approach. "What if I was a terrible person before all of this?" she asked him in sudden desperation.

But Weller didn't skip a beat, didn't looked shocked or dismayed or disappointed by what little she'd told him so far, as she had feared he would. "I don't think you were, Jane," he replied evenly, locking eyes with her for a few intense seconds before looking back at the road. She turned to stare forward as well.

"But whoever you were, then, that's not who you are now," he added. Their eyes met briefly again, and he could see how badly she wanted to believe him.

Though she was afraid to believe what he was saying, as terrified as she had been by her flashes of memory, Weller's words flooded her with a sense of relief. She felt gratitude toward him that she wouldn't have been able to put into words even if she'd tried. It was as if, just as she had started falling into the abyss of despair, he'd snatched her back from an infinite fall. She was still just barely hanging on, but it was better than falling. She just had to hold on…

Shaking her head slightly, she couldn't help but say the first thing that came to her mind. "How do you know?"

Once again, Weller didn't hesitate. He was looking at the road, but it didn't lessen his sincerity. "Your first instinct is to help people, Jane. The battered wife in Chinatown. Reade, after the explosion today. You don't hesitate, you act. And you do the right thing." He glanced at her again quickly, seeing her looking off into the distance as she processed his words. "So I don't know what it is you're remembering, or what the context is. But I do think you're a good person."

They glanced at each other then, at the same time, and she could feel her jaw trembling. She so wanted to believe him, but after what she'd seen…

And yet, he seemed so certain. His words made sense logically, though of course maybe he wouldn't feel that way if she actually told him what she thought she had done. It was impossible to say.

Still, she had to look away before tears came to her eyes. Once again, though his hands were firmly on the steering wheel, she had the sensation that a strong hand was holding on and pulling her slowly away from a bottomless pit that had opened up below her. The feeling that someone simply would not allow her to fall into that nothingness meant more to her than she could ever have explained to him.

Without looking back at him, she simply whispered, "Thanks," not even sure if she'd said it loudly enough for him to hear her.


	23. Static

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 **Season 1, episode 2**

As they'd hoped, Weller and Jane had tracked Gibson to the correct construction site in Brooklyn. Jane had stayed by the car – _voluntarily_ this time – to watch for Gibson, and he'd taken the elevator up to the 7th floor to clear the only partially constructed building.

As she watched Weller disappear into the elevator, Jane peered around the quiet construction site, ever alert. For some reason, this time staying by the car didn't feel like a punishment, as it had the other times. There were only two of them, after all, and if they both went up into the building and Gibson came out, he'd easily escape. She settled herself into the driver's seat of the SUV, radio in hand in case she and Weller needed to report anything to each other. She watched anxiously as the elevator slid higher and higher along the outside edge of the building until it finally came to a stop.

After he stepped out of the elevator, gun drawn, it was only mere seconds before Weller found their target. Or rather, Gibson found him. Even before he saw the other man, Weller had found himself under fire. They chased each other through the unfinished construction, taking cover behind partially built walls, in the same kind of cat and mouse game that Weller had played many times in his job. It was something that he was good at, though that didn't negate the danger completely.

On the ground, Jane didn't have to wonder for long how things were going up above. It was only a few minutes later when she heard the echo of gunshots, telling Jane that Weller had found their target. She craned her neck to look up into the building, but of course, she wasn't at an angle that allowed her to see what was going on on the upper floors. She could only continue to wait.

Weller was confident, though not arrogantly so, in their chances of apprehending Gibson. It wasn't until he rounded a corner and saw the elevator begin to descend, with Gibson surely inside, that his stress level began to rise quickly. As he ran down the stairs, attempting to race the elevator to the ground, he was unable to raise Jane on the radio – _that_ was when he began to panic.

It wasn't long before the radio in her hands crackled to life, but all she could understand between the static was a frantic voice on the other end - she could make out only fragments of Weller's words. What he was saying was a mystery, though it all sounded very urgent.

 _Jane_! Her name thundered in his head, over and over. He had to warn her that Gibson was heading straight for her, but the damn radio signal was breaking up so badly that neither of them could get even one sentence through to the other. He could hear that she was there, but other than that it was all just crackly static. Pushing himself down the stairs as fast as he could, screaming her name into the radio to no avail, he felt himself grow more and more frantic.

 _Dammit!_ she thought in irritation. "Weller, you're breaking up," she said into the radio, though she wondered if he would have any better luck understanding her than she was having understanding him. There was more garbled noise, to which she replied, "Weller, I can't… I can't… I don't understand you." Her frustration level rose by the minute, knowing that he was saying something important that she simply couldn't understand. She was so focused on the radio, that she didn't notice the movement of the elevator as it glided along the side of the building closest to her, coming to rest once more at the ground floor.

Finally, she made out one sentence over the radio: "Gibson's coming after you _now_." Looking up from the radio that she'd been so fixated on, she now understood why Weller's scrambled message had sounded so urgent. Straight ahead of her stood Gibson, who was pointing an automatic weapon at her from an uncomfortably short distance in front of the car.

She only just barely had time to duck in order to avoid the hail of bullets that he unleashed on her through the windshield of the SUV, and then more of them lower, into the hood of the vehicle. Thankfully, the front window did not shatter completely, despite the numerous bullet holes, though broken glass rained down around her, falling in her hair and covering the whole front seat, as the shots continued.

Weller couldn't see what was happening on the ground from the stairwell, but he heard the gunshots. _Too many gunshots._ He flung himself the rest of the way down the stairs as fast as he could, barely slowing down enough to skid around the corners on each landing.

The sound of gunshots and breaking glass echoed in Jane's ears for what felt like hours as she crouched behind the front console of the SUV, hoping desperately for it all to stop. If it was possible, the noise seemed to get louder at first, and she cringed at the thought that he was moving towards her. After all, she was not exactly in a position to defend herself from someone so heavily armed.

Thankfully, however, the shooting _did_ stop. When the bullets and glass finally stopped flying, Jane sat up carefully but quickly, half expecting to see Gibson's face outside her car window and his weapon in her face. Instead, she caught sight of him in the rear view mirror as he climbed into a car that was parked nearby. Adrenaline filled her veins as she realized that she couldn't let him get away. Weller wasn't back yet, so it was up to her.

Weller was still barreling down the stairs when the shots stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. _Jane!_ His mind screamed her name urgently, unable to think of anything else. Of course, he didn't want Gibson to get away, but if he had to choose between Jane being safe and apprehending Gibson, it was no contest. He cursed himself for not being able to run faster down the stairs, even as the burning in his lungs told him that he was going faster than he reasonably should have been.

Jane radioed Weller to tell him that she was going to pursue Gibson, who would otherwise escape, though she wondered fleetingly whether his radio was working any better now than it had been a few minutes before. At that moment it didn't matter, the only thing she could think of as threw the car into reverse out of the space where it was parked, squealing the tires loudly, and took off after him was that they couldn't lose Gibson, their only suspect. He was the key, after all.

Weller's radio was crackling again, but he couldn't break his momentum to try to adjust it or even just to devote the attention necessary to try to make out the words through the static. He thought he heard something about Gibson, but beyond that, he wasn't sure. It made sense, of course, since he knew that Gibson had just fired on Jane. If nothing else, the fact that garbled pieces of her voice were making it through the radio meant that she was alive, which was the most important thing to him at that moment.

He _finally_ emerged from the stairwell at the ground floor of the building, flinging the door open as hard as he could and standing for half a second to take in the scene. He saw a sedan driving away, which he assumed was Gibson, and as he charged forward, he saw Jane take off after him in the SUV. He'd thought for a second that he could catch her before she drove off, but he was too late. He radioed Reade and Zapata, telling them that Jane was after Gibson, and to track the SUV's GPS and go to that location, then, because it was an emergency, set about "finding" himself a new vehicle and took off after her as well.

XXX

When he caught up to Jane a few minutes later, where she'd managed to force Gibson to wreck his car, he was alarmed to see that the FBI-issued SUV that she'd been driving was sitting motionless, flipped onto its side just beyond Gibson's car. For a second he felt as if all of the air had been pressed out of his lungs at once, before his instincts and training took over.

 _You know what to do, Weller_ , he reminded himself. The time it took for him to get out of the truck that he'd ended up driving to the scene – he preferred not to think of it as stolen, but instead "procured for an FBI investigation" – and run to the side of the SUV where Jane lay, motionless, was agony. _If anything had happened to her…_ He couldn't even finish that sentence. It was simply unthinkable. After all, this operation was _his_ responsibility. She'd been under _his_ protection. He'd only known her for a few days… he couldn't possibly have failed her that quickly.

She'd been knocked out for a minute or two, but she felt herself waking up slowly, feeling pain and soreness over her entire body. Before she became fully conscious again, however, she suddenly saw another black and white flash of that other life she'd allegedly had, the one that so terrified her. Once again, she didn't know what she was looking at right away. Then the scene became familiar, in that she was back in the church that she'd seen in another such flashback… but no, this flash was different. At least she _thought_ it was different.

She heard the word "penance," and then saw a figure in white robes on the ground before her… someone who'd fallen after she'd pulled the trigger… she'd just used the same gun she'd seen herself holding the last time… under the man's robes he wore some sort of uniform – was it military? As she watched herself in confusion, her "other self" pulled a flash drive with a number pad on the front from one of the man's pockets. There were a few more bright flashes, and then the memory was gone. She blinked against the bright light that surrounded her as her eyes slowly opened, and against the searing pain in her head, struggling to remember what had happened.

Thankfully, when Weller reached the driver's side of the SUV, which lay smashed against the ground, he found Jane alive and conscious, though certainly confused. "Jane," he said breathlessly. "Are you okay? Can you move?" Within seconds he was gently pulling her out through the window frame, lifting her as carefully as he could by hooking his arms under her armpits and pulling, feeling her wince and hearing her groan. She grunted with the effort of trying to help lift herself, and then allowed him to steady her.

Now that Weller knew that Jane was okay, Gibson was their next priority. They turned away from the wreckage of the Agency issued SUV without another word, both of them with the same thought, sprinting back toward the vehicle that Gibson had wrecked just a few moments before in the hopes that he hadn't slipped away already. Approaching the other car quickly, they were just in time to see Gibson pulling himself out of the car. Weller intercepted him, gripping him tightly by the neck and pushing him against the car.

"Where's the girl? Where's the girl?" Weller demanded through tightly clenched teeth. He wasn't shy about holding his gun on Gibson, who looked noticeably uncomfortable with its proximity, leaning back against the metal behind him.

For a second Weller was afraid that Gibson wasn't going to talk, that he would refuse to give up the location of the kidnapped girl, but after a few more of Weller's unfriendly "requests" and less than gentle shoves against the car, Gibson finally gave up the information that the team needed.

As Weller stood there, with Gibson now securely handcuffed to the same car that he'd fled in, for good measure, Reade and Zapata drove up in the other SUV, squealing to a halt in front of where Weller was standing. The pair jumped out of the car, Reade looking at Weller with relief as Weller motioned for him to take over custody of the suspect.

"I need to take the car. I know where the girl is, I'm going after her," Weller called as he sprinted to the newly abandoned SUV, jumping into the driver's seat. Jane watched unsurely, unclear over what he wanted her to do. "You three stay here, call for backup." They nodded solemnly, watching Weller take off, squealing the tires as he accelerated quickly.

The scene was suddenly quiet, and Zapata approached Jane, who was standing by looking rather shell-shocked. "Are you okay? Jane?" she asked with concern. Jane didn't seem to hear her, but was instead staring distractedly at the spot where the second SUV had sat a moment before. " _Jane_ ," Zapata repeated, louder this time. Finally Jane turned her head, slowly, and seemed to focus on the agent in front of her for the first time since she and Reade had arrived.

"What?" she asked, momentarily confused.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Zapata repeated, watching Jane carefully for signs of injury.

"Oh, uh… Gibson led me on a bit of a chase, but then crashed, right here," she stopped, to indicate his smashed car. "The SUV… well…. I was trying to see what happened to him and I turned back around too late, I hit something, and…" Zapata turned her head to look in the direction that Jane had glanced, toward the overturned vehicle not far away.

"You were in it when it flipped?" Zapata asked quickly, to which Jane just nodded. "But you're okay? Right?"

Jane nodded, swallowing hard. She didn't really look sure. "Well, my head's killing me, but other than that…"

"You should let them have a look at you. The EMTs, when they get here," Zapata told her. "You might have a concussion, or you could be in shock."

"Yeah, I guess…" Jane answered, looking back at the SUV laying on its side once again. Her brain felt a little fuzzy, and she didn't know if she should attribute it to the accident or the flash of a new memory she'd had as she'd come to afterwards, or possibly both. Whatever it was, she was having trouble shaking it.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jane heard Reade's voice, talking into his phone as he called Mayfair to report on what had happened, to get them back-up and another vehicle, but it was barely louder than background noise to her. She watched as Zapata walked over to inspect that SUV that she'd managed to flip, the agent's eyes wide in surprise when she saw the six bullet holes in the windshield and numerous others in the front section of the car. All of it felt like a dream to Jane, even more so than the rest of the waking moments that she could remember so far, and she wondered what was happening to her.

 _Just hold on_ , she told herself. _You've made it this far. Just hold on._


	24. I'm Fine

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

Weller raced back at the construction site where he and Jane had first intercepted Gibson, still only a little while earlier, barely waiting for the car to come to a complete stop before throwing it into park and jumping out. Within minutes he had found Emily, the little girl that Gibson had kidnapped, in a padlocked, windowless room on one of the upper floors. When he opened the door and saw her there, safe, though with a giant padlock securing her wrists, his heart felt both heavy and light all at the same time. What she had been through had been horrible, but he had found her, and she was _alive_. If he'd been too late… well, he just didn't think he could've lived with himself, with the guilt... And if he hadn't found her… he couldn't even bear to think about that. To imagine going through that _again_ … no, it was simply unfathomable.

Meanwhile, as Weller had driven like a bat out of hell to get back to the construction site for Emily, back-up had arrived quickly at the scene of the two wrecked cars, in the form of another black SUV. Jane, Reade and Zapata, with Gibson in tow, had piled into the vehicle to follow Weller, arriving in time to see him emerge from the building at the construction site with the little girl in his arms.

When Weller carried Emily out of the building, setting her down and watching as she barreled straight into her father's embrace, he felt the glow of pride that he had helped make that happen. And yet, even now all these years later, he simultaneously felt a sting in his chest, the same one he felt every time he found a missing or abducted child safely. It went back twenty-five years, to the one girl that hadn't been found, the girl who had been lost on his watch. The one who had been his responsibility, who had meant the most to him of any of them. _Taylor._

Not only had he lost her, but he'd never been able to find her again, despite his very best efforts and all of the promises that he'd made to both himself and to her mother. _Taylor._ By now, the stinging feeling was almost like an involuntary reaction, one that even though he saw it coming, never ceased to catch him off guard and take his breath away. Not only that, but every time he found a missing child, especially a little girl, he couldn't help but feel that much guiltier about Taylor. Somehow it seemed that he could find just about any child except the one who had mattered most to him, the one that he had managed to lose all by himself.

 _Except that, Jane just might be Taylor_ , the voice in his head volunteered. _After all this time, what if you've found her?_ But it seemed too good to be true. Why now? Like this? And yet… another part of his mind was sure, no matter what doubts his rational self could come up with.

Weller's thoughts were interrupted by Jane, who walked up beside him. "We got her back," she said simply, studying him with a slight smile on her face. He could see that she looked confused and knew that she wouldn't understand to why he himself didn't seem happier about the outcome. Hoping that she wouldn't ask any questions just then, he stared away from her, towards the reunion unfolding before them.

"Yeah, we did," he replied solemnly, turning his serious expression towards Jane. He was still far enough inside his own thoughts that he wasn't able to even feign enthusiasm for the fact that they'd rescued Emily.

Despite the fact that Jane was staring at him, confused by the storm of emotions that was clear on his face, his expression didn't change. So Jane simply watched him quietly, even after he'd averted his eyes and looked off into the distance, unable to maintain eye contact with her any longer. She could see that there was something going on in his head, she just wasn't sure what it was. The only thing she could think of was that he was still concerned about any other deeds that Gibson may have carried out that they did not yet know about.

The scene continued to unfold around them as they stood there, with the police and FBI agents each going about their assigned duties. Gibson had been led away in handcuffs to be processed. All things considered, it was the happiest ending that could have been hoped for in the situation. Reade and Zapata had already headed back to headquarters, this time leaving Weller to do the follow up. The scene was winding down, and from the looks of things, they would be on their way soon as well.

Weller had been standing beside Jane, surveying the scene, when without a word he had suddenly walked to the black SUV that was identical to the one that Jane had flipped earlier, brought to the scene for them by one of the agents who'd already departed, and climbed into the driver's side. At first Jane thought that he was getting ready to leave, but then she noticed that he was just sitting and staring straight ahead, not even moving to start the engine. She looked around for anyone who might give her an explanation, but no one else even seemed to have noticed. Everyone else was simply going about their business.

After another minute, Jane hesitantly walked to the SUV, climbing into the passenger seat beside him. She couldn't help but notice that he was still staring out the front window, and she didn't even think he'd heard her pull the door closed after climbing in. Two more minutes elapsed before she finally cleared her throat slightly. Still, no response from Weller.

"Weller… are you… okay?" she asked tentatively. There was clearly something bothering him. He turned slowly and looked at her, seeming surprised to see her there, looking at her for a long few seconds before his expression changed to the slightest of sad smiles.

"Cases that involve kids…. They get to me," he replied quietly. She pursed her lips and nodded, not understanding why it seemed so personal to him, but knowing from the way that he was acting that there was a lot more to it than that. "But we found her, and she was safe, and that's what matters," he added in a voice that sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Something seemed to catch his attention then, and he wasn't quite looking at her, just slightly to the side of her face.

"Hold still for a second," he told her, bringing his hand up slowly towards her. "I think there's glass in your hair."

This surprised her, since she had thought she'd gotten it all out earlier. She obliged him, however, holding perfectly still as his hand moved slowly towards her head, making the slightest contact with her hair and her scalp. When he pulled his hand back, there was indeed a tiny shard of glass between his thumb and index finger. "Wow," she said in surprise, feeling slightly lightheaded by the intensity with which he was looking at her. The look on his face suddenly didn't seem to be 100% related to the case anymore… or maybe she was imagining it. "Thanks," she added.

"You should probably shake out that jacket, especially the hood, just in case," he observed. She nodded in agreement, already turning and reaching for the handle on the door. Not only did it make a lot of sense to do that, but it was also an excuse to look away from the suddenly overwhelming look he was giving her.

She climbed back out of the car, closing the door to ensure that no flying glass would end up inside, and removed her jacket. Looking carefully inside the hood, she found a small collection of various sized pieces of glass. Locating a nearby trash can, she shook them into it, inspecting the rest of the jacket carefully before holding it out in front of her and shaking it quickly. Satisfied that the jacket seemed to now be glass free, she walked back to the SUV and set it down at the top of the hood, where it met the windshield. Then she turned around and leaned forward, shaking her head back and forth for good measure. All she needed was to cut herself on glass accidentally left in her hair.

Standing up again, slightly dizzy from shaking her head upside down, she stood still to let the world come back into focus. Her head had been hurting since the crash, though the pain had lessened to the point that she'd almost forgotten about it with everything else that was going on. Now it was back, and even a little stronger than before.

She hadn't heard him approach, but suddenly Weller was beside her, standing close but not touching her, looking at her with concern. "Careful, after your crash earlier, flipping your head around upside down and every which way may not be the best thing you can do for yourself," he told her seriously.

 _Now you tell me_ , she thought, as she tried to ignore the pounding in her head. He was right. If she had a head injury, doing something like that would only make it worse. There was nothing she could do about it now, however. The damage, if any, was done.

"Oh, yeah, that's true. I just thought…" She was a little embarrassed that she hadn't thought of that herself. Now that he mentioned it, it seemed like common sense.

"I believe I said 'Shake out your _jacket_ ,' not your _head_ ," he chuckled at her.

She grimaced at him, wanting to change the focus of the conversation. "Do you see any more?" she asked, turning away from him so her hair was more easily visible. He looked at her hair carefully, then slowly brought his right hand up so that he could push sections of it aside for a better view. It felt strange to have his hand in her hair, but not in a bad way. On the contrary, he liked it. He felt the same sort of feeling of a low voltage electrical current that he'd felt when she'd put her hand on his the first day they'd met, in the interrogation room. He moved his hand through her hair, slightly less hesitantly, pushing the sections around to reveal her pale scalp and black curls, but no more glass.

When she'd asked him if there was any glass left in her hair, she had honestly been asking a serious question. She hadn't been trying to get him to do… whatever it was he was doing. She hadn't expected him to tangle his fingers through it, and she _certainly_ hadn't expected to like it as much as she did. She was _not_ going to complain, however. Something in her brain pumped out a warning signal, but she was only very abstractly aware of it. She got the feeling that she was walking a delicate line, but at that moment, she didn't care too much. Her headache was momentarily almost forgotten.

After pushing his fingers through her hair enough that he was now feeling flustered, Weller pulled his hand away, letting it drop back to his side, and declared, "I don't see any more glass, Jane. I think you're good now." She turned around to face him, and her cheeks felt warmer than usual.

 _Please tell me I'm not blushing_ , she thought. However, one glance at Weller's face and the slight color in his cheeks, only partially hidden by his stubble, told her that she wasn't alone, so she tried to let it go without overthinking it. "Thanks," she smiled up at him before she turned, feeling self-conscious, to retrieve her jacket from the hood of the car. She took her time putting it back on, feeling him watching her as she purposely kept her eyes directed away from him.

"You should get checked out," he told her seriously, which drew her eyes back to him in alarm.

"No, I'm _fine_. I—" she began, but didn't get any further before he cut her off.

" _Jane_ ," he said firmly. "You flipped the car on its side – the side you were _driving_ on, and it was _crushed_. If for no other reason, _that_ requires you to get yourself looked at." It was hard to tell if it was an FBI requirement or a Kurt Weller requirement, but she could see from the expression on his face that he wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

Sighing just a little dramatically in resignation, she nodded slightly. "Alright, Weller, have it your way. But I'm _fine_ ," she told him yet again. _Except for a slight headache, not even worth mentioning_ , she added to herself and attempting not to wince as she felt it slowly returning. He smiled at her and shook his head, and she couldn't help but notice the slight twinkle in his eyes when he did so. He seemed to be amused by her stubbornness – even _she_ could admit that that was really the only word to describe the way she was acting.

The EMTs were stationed nearby, just across the parking lot where the ambulance had parked, and they were currently checking Emily to be sure that the little girl hadn't been mistreated during her captivity. While she appeared fine at first glance, it was better safe than sorry. Weller knew that the girl took priority, being a child, and because no one else was seriously injured or bleeding, but he couldn't help but be annoyed that they'd looked at her before Jane, the one who'd been in a serious car accident. Jane hadn't complained, of course, but the longer they stood there, the more she looked like she might not be feeling her best.

They remained where they were standing while they waited for the EMTs to finish with Emily, in front of the same building in which Weller and Gibson had had their earlier shoot out, almost in the same spot where Jane had survived the hail of bullets and glass inside the now-wrecked SUV. Now that the adrenaline had finally left her body, Jane's headache had suddenly returned full-force, actually much worse than it had been earlier. The more she tried to ignore it, the more it seemed to hurt. It was all she could do not to grit her teeth in pain by that point. Weller, who'd been watching her closely, noticed her obvious discomfort.

"How's your head?" he asked her, glancing at her in concern.

Jane couldn't help but feel like he'd moved ever so slightly closer to her since the last time she'd glanced at him. He was now almost behind her shoulder, as if in some sort of protective stance. She wondered if he'd done it consciously or not. She shrugged as she attempted to force her face into something that looked like a smile, but ended up as more of a tight grimace. Apparently it was impossible to convince the tense muscles in her face to relax. "It's fine," she replied through almost clenched teeth, shaking her head slightly. Even that small movement immediately seemed like a bad idea, however, and she closed her eyes involuntarily against the sting in her head.

 _She really is a terrible liar_ , he thought.

Weller saw that the EMTs had finally finished checking Emily over, and that she had climbed back into her father's arms and moved off towards a waiting vehicle. "C'mon, Jane, it's your turn to get checked out," he said in a low voice. It was now obvious that her head was hurting, even though she didn't want to let on. She pursed her lips, not wanting to admit that there might be anything wrong with her beyond just a headache, but didn't protest. At the same time, she didn't _move_ , either. She stood in place, focused enough on the throbbing that had started in her head that she wasn't able to give her legs directions quite yet.

After a few seconds, Weller realized that she probably wasn't going to go far – or maybe anywhere – on her own, and shook his head at her. "C'mon," he said again, quietly so that he didn't make her obvious headache even worse. At the same time, he let his right hand rest gently in the middle of her lower back and began walking himself, pushing her forward gently.

This seemed to be just the momentum that she needed, because she started forward along with him without protest. The muscles in her back where his hand had landed had tightened just for a second when he'd put his hand on her, but she felt them begin to relax again almost immediately, followed by the muscles in her face and head, where the pain was centered, though only ever so slightly. They made it across the parking lot, Weller only removing his hand slowly from her back when she turned around to sit down on the back ledge of the ambulance, facing him. The spot where his hand had been immediately felt the lack of warmth there, and she looked up at him and again attempted a smile in thanks, though the gratitude in her head didn't quite translate to a smile on her face.

That didn't matter so much, because Weller was pretty sure he understood what her eyes were telling him. The most important thing was that the EMTs look at her and make sure that she would be okay. He stood and watched them check Jane over, as his thoughts drifted slowly. This wasn't over yet. Just then, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and he fished it out, walking part way across the parking lot as he looked at the caller ID. _Mayfair_. "Weller," he said quickly into the phone.

"I hear you got Gibson, and you found the girl. Well done. Is Jane alright?" His boss began, skipping the pleasantries.

"They're checking her now," Weller replied. He seriously doubted that was the main reason for Mayfair's call, and he waited to see what she would say.

"We're ready to debrief when you get here," she told him, then, after a pause, she added, "How are _you_ holding up?" He could hear the note of concern in her voice. Of course Mayfair, knowing his history, would know exactly how he was doing.

"I'm fine," he replied, thinking that he sounded an awful lot like Jane, especially because he'd claimed to be fine without taking the time to assess whether or not he _actually_ was fine. "More importantly, the girl is fine. We found her before anything could happen to her." Of course, Mayfair knew this information, but didn't say anything about being told again, knowing that it was intricately related to Weller's state of mind. Putting him on missing child cases always made her a little uneasy, despite the fact that he was the best lead agent she had working under her. She could never know exactly how he would react.

"Yes, thankfully," Mayfair replied simply. "I'll see you soon, Weller," she added.

He barked an affirmation into the phone, then hit the button ending the call and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Turning back to the ambulance, now a little ways away, he saw Jane still sitting on the platform, though the EMTs appeared to be done with their examination. She was leaning forward slightly, holding the edges of the metal tightly with both hands, her eyes closed. It appeared that she was in pain, more so than she'd led him to believe. Shaking his head once again at her stubbornness, he started back across the parking lot.

His shoes crunched on the small, loose stones that were strewn about across the parking lot, but even though she must have heard him approach, she didn't open her eyes when he came to a stop in front of her. Upon closer inspection, she appeared to be taking deep breaths, and didn't seem to even notice his presence. He moved forward slowly, sitting down beside her and, when she still didn't react, put his hand gently on top of hers on the edge of the platform between them. Her breathing changed then, deepening ever so slightly, as if she was calming down at least a little, but even so, it was twenty seconds or so before she opened her eyes. When she did, she turned her head slowly and then, even more slowly, brought her eyes up to look at him.

"You're fine, huh?" he asked her quietly, not wanting to hurt her head by talking any louder. She just smiled weakly, knowing that she was no longer fooling him. Letting out a sigh, she leaned slowly toward him without a word, resting her head ever so gently on the side of his shoulder.

"No," she whispered, closing her eyes again.

This was a significant admission of weakness for Jane, Weller knew, and he squeezed her hand slightly. Looking down at her, he saw the tiniest hint of a smile, so small that had he not been studying her so closely, he would probably have missed it. He sat there and thought back on the state the car had been in when he'd found her. The bullet holes in the windshield and the engine block. The shattered glass everywhere. She could easily have been badly injured, or…

One of the EMTs approached, waving him over. He glanced at Jane, giving her hand another squeeze, and, though he hated to get up with her leaning against his shoulder like that, he slowly leaned forward and let her adjust to holding herself up again as he stood up and walked over to where the young man in a crisp uniform was standing. "Agent Weller?" the man asked. Weller nodded affirmatively. "She's in good shape, all things considered," the man told him. "She doesn't seem to have a concussion, though she did mention a severe headache."

Weller glanced over his shoulder at Jane then, and could see that this much was clear. Her eyes were closed and she was still gripping the edges of the platform. "Someone should probably keep an eye on her for the next few hours, make sure she doesn't develop any new symptoms of head trauma." Weller nodded, thinking that this made perfect sense. "I gave her some Tylenol, it should help," he added. "If she needs something stronger, she should definitely see a doctor."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Weller told the young man, who nodded and walked back to his team, who were packing up, like everyone else at the scene. It was time to get back to headquarters and debrief, he knew. The others would be waiting for him. He walked back to Jane and sat down beside her again, replacing his hand on top of hers. This time she leaned toward him without opening her eyes, putting her head exactly where it had been before. Weller wondered if the position helped with the pain, or if it was merely an emotional support. He supposed that her head must be hurting quite a bit for her to act like his, since she was generally much more reserved. To his knowledge, she was only like this when she was at her most emotional.

"Still hurts, huh?" he asked sympathetically, peering at the top of her head. It was so close to his face when he turned towards her, his breath moved the hair as he exhaled. She nodded slightly, then he immediately felt her wince in pain, obviously regretting the movement. He smiled sympathetically, squeezing her hand slightly and hoping that the sensation would distract her from what seemed to be more than a headache. Then again, it was also probably the first one she could remember having, which probably didn't help. He decided that either the adrenaline of the situation had kept it at bay until very recently, or she'd just lost the will to insist that she was fine.

He hated to even have to speak at this point, hesitant both because he didn't want to create extra noise that would hurt her head, but also because he had to tell her that they would have to go back to headquarters, and the trip was sure to be rough on her in her present condition. _A few more minutes,_ he told himself. _Let the drugs in her system work their magic for a few more minutes._ He had to admit, this was _not_ a bad place to find himself – sitting here quietly with her after the stress of the day, her head against his shoulder. She was a paradox, that was for sure, shifting between fiercely tough and impossibly fragile, between someone who had no problem defending herself against the worthiest of opponents and someone who made his feel the urge to protect her, as he did now. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do for her against a headache.

A few minutes went by, and he sighed slightly. He couldn't put it off any longer. One of the EMTs was beginning to glare at him. They were finished and needed to leave the scene, no doubt having other emergencies to which they needed to attend. "Jane," he whispered, "we have to go."

"Where?" she asked in the same quiet tone, without opening her eyes. "I'm fine right here."

Weller smiled, thinking that this may have been the most endearing thing he'd seen in a long time. "I know," he began, "and I am too. But the EMTs have to leave, and we're sitting on the back of the ambulance, for one. For another thing, we need to debrief back at headquarters." She pursed her lips unhappily for a second, her expression reminding him of a small child's, but she opened her eyes slowly and pulled her head off of his shoulder. He felt its absence immediately, and regretted that he had to make her get up. _Focus, Weller_ , he told himself. _She's not your girlfriend. This isn't a date._

"Okay," she sighed wearily, "let's go." He finally released her hand as they stood up, and he turned and nodded to the EMTs, who looked relieved that they weren't going to have to ask them to please vacate their ambulance. Jane took a few small steps and then stopped, momentarily disoriented. He turned and came to stand beside her, putting his hand on her back gently again and steering her toward the SUV, now one of only a few vehicles left in the parking lot as the last of the crew finished at the scene. As they walked slowly across the parking lot, he couldn't help but be thankful for how things had turned out. It could have been so much worse.


	25. Never Better

_A/N: The past few episodes of Blindspot have made me very sad, more so with each one… I know that they're upping the angst and the "Oscar factor" in order to build the tension and all that, but it's kinda breaking my heart to watch… I hate when TV shows build up one relationship so carefully over time and then suddenly seem to smash it to bits by having one or both characters sleep with someone they barely know (And not just Blindspot, I'm also looking at YOU, Covert Affairs and The Walking Dead). So I'm perfectly happy to take my sweet time working through the early episodes, where Jane and Kurt used to give each other those heart eyes all the time and act like they had an insanely impossible connection. I am able to admit that I_ _ **may**_ _have (ok definitely did) added even more than usual (and possibly over the top) cuteness in this and previous chapters (and may well do so in future ones, too) in order to deal with what the writers are doing to me on the new episodes. I hope it's not too much… but then again, that's the thing about fanfic – I can write it however I want to. In any case, I hope you enjoy it!_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit. The way the show is going in the back half of the season, I think I'm actually doing the characters a favor.**_

Moving slowly, Weller and Jane made it across the parking lot, and he opened the passenger side door of the black SUV for her. As she pulled herself up wearily, he stood by, ready to catch her if she fell backwards. Thankfully she didn't, and she managed to situate herself in the seat, falling back against the chair and appearing exhausted from the effort, her eyes drifting closed. After watching her for a second, he tugged at the seatbelt, pulling it slack and then reaching across her to buckle it, studying her carefully as he did so.

After hearing the _click_ of the buckle and then standing there just watching her for a few more seconds, Weller closed the door as gently as he could while still making sure that the latch engaged. He saw her wince at the sound, then finally forced himself to move, walking quickly around to the driver's side. Climbing in and attempting to close his door quietly as well, he saw her flinch once again at the sound of the door closing. "Sorry," he said quietly as he buckled himself in and started the car. Her eyes were closed and a small attempt at a smile flitted across her face for just a second before her head leaned slowly towards the window, her temple coming to rest against the glass.

 _Just like that first night,_ he thought. _On the way to the park by the water, and then on the way to the safe house_ , he recalled. Had that really only been a few days ago? It felt like so much longer…

 _Snap out of it_ , he told himself quickly. _Places to go, people to see. If you want to get home anytime soon, go get this case wrapped up._

He drove along the semi-congested streets between the construction site in Brooklyn and FBI headquarters, glancing at Jane frequently and finding her still leaning her forehead against the glass.By the time they neared the FBI building, he was beginning to feel weary himself, the adrenaline that had coursed through him all day having left his system, leaving him feeling like he'd been knocked to the ground in an explosion at close range – which of course, he had. _Wake up,_ he told himself as he drove into the bureau's parking garage and pulled the car to a stop.

Jane hadn't stirred since they'd left the construction site, and he couldn't tell if she was asleep or just resting her eyes. For her sake, he hoped that she'd managed to get a nap – though he wasn't quite sure what falling asleep would mean for her chances of having a head injury. Weller got out of the car and closed his door behind him, then crossed around the front of the car to her side, opening the door slowly. She was still leaning on the window, and he didn't want her to fall out of the car. He pulled the passenger door open, ever so slowly, with his right hand, while putting out his left hand near the slowly growing opening, to… what? Catch her in case she fell? He wasn't exactly sure, but if that was what happened, he'd try his best. After all, he'd saved her from far greater danger already, at least once.

It wasn't necessary though, because Jane sat up quickly at the sudden shift in her weight. She looked around in panic and confusion, seeming slightly alarmed. When she finally looked up and saw Weller standing in front of her, the look of panic receded as she smiled slightly. He didn't have a chance to enjoy the smile he saw on her face, however, because he watched her face begin to change almost immediately.

The haze of sleep faded and the events of the past hour came into focus, slowly at first, but then with increasing speed, along with her headache. She turned to face Weller, but before she could climb out of the car her headache was back in full force and her eyes closed, again involuntarily. Leaning forward without even realizing it, she braced her elbows against her knees, dropping her head and making a conscious effort to breathe evenly.

It was impossible to miss the fact that she was once again in pain, and Weller crouched in front of her, trying to get closer to her level so he could better determine how serious the problem was. "Hey, Jane," he said softly, "are you okay?"

"Never better," she whispered, prompting Weller to roll his eyes and shake his head at her.

"Alright, come on, tough girl," he told her, trying to determine the best way to help her up. "Let's get you out of the car so you can go lie down. You'll feel better after some sleep." He saw her start to nod, but then wince at the motion. He _hoped_ that sleep was all she needed to feel better…

The last thing she wanted to do was to move, but she knew that what Weller said was the truth. She desperately wanted to lie down. She tried to psych herself up to sit up, but it wasn't easy. "Okay," she said instead, her voice coming out as low and forced. She took one more deep breath and then pushed herself upwards so that she could take the large step down from the SUV, transferring her feet slowly onto the cement in front of her and unfolding her upper body from the crouched position in which she'd sat. Weller took a small step back to give her enough space to get out, but remaining close just in case. He wasn't sure whether she'd be able to stand on her own or not, at this point.

She didn't falter until it came time to transfer her weight completely from the seat of the car onto her feet, at which point it became clear that she wasn't quite stable. Weller caught her quickly by her forearms before she toppled over, positioning himself so that she was leaning against his chest. She immediately began to blush and he felt her try to push herself up and off of him, but it was a minute or so before she got her balance and managed to lean back and stand on her own shaky legs.

Despite his general preference for keeping people at arm's length, both literally and figuratively, he once again found that being so close to Jane didn't bother him. On the contrary, the sudden closeness took his breath away for a second, and not just from the impact of her weight falling against him. As there had been since the first minute he'd laid eyes on her, there was something so different about her, so mesmerizing to him… which only added, once again, to his suspicion that Jane was Taylor. He'd already decided, of course, but it only served to make him even more sure than he had been before.

When he could finally feel that she had stopped trembling, he reluctantly relaxed his grip on her, finding that he actually noticed the absence of her proximity when he took a step back. As if to compensate for the loss, he kept his right hand on her lower back just behind her hip. _To be sure she's steady_ , he heard his mind rationalizing.

 _Right, that's exactly what you're doing_ , came the sarcastic voice in his head. _You're not fooling anyone, you know._ Inside, he sneered at the voice, but didn't let it show on his face. He was still watching Jane with concern in his eyes. Yes, he was pretty sure that he was acting only slightly more reserved than a lovesick teenager, however, it wasn't just a shallow infatuation. He cared a great deal about this woman he'd only met a few days ago, whether or not she actually was his childhood friend.

 _Get ahold of yourself, Weller,_ he told himself for the umpteenth time in the past few days.

She noticed that it took him a long moment before he let go of her. Not that she minded – despite feeling very self-conscious for basically falling onto him with all of her weight when her legs failed to support her, and feeling her cheeks warm to the point where she was sure she was blushing. For a split second she forgot how badly her head hurt, and as much as she felt that she _should_ stand up, she really wasn't in any rush to move… it was a strange, conflicted feeling that she couldn't remember ever feeling before. Not that _that_ was much of a novelty – she didn't remember much of anything, of course, unless it had happened in the past few days or flashed before her eyes in black and white images.

After pausing for only a split second he turned and, as he had done at the construction site, stood beside her, sliding the hand on her back gently the rest of the way across and around her waist. She didn't protest, despite a look of momentary surprise, and found herself relaxing and allowing him to hold her up. After all, most of her attention was on the pain in her head, which had already returned with a vengeance, anyway.

He was glad that she seemed to accept his help easily, since she so clearly needed it, and after closing the passenger side door behind her – the noise from which seemed to echo unusually loudly in the silent garage – they made their way into the building. Steering her towards a quieter section of the wing where their department was based, Weller directed Jane to lie down on a couch tucked into an alcove, away from most of the noise of agents coming and going, which would increase as they approached Mayfair's office and Patterson's lab, along with the open bullpen area where many of the agents worked when they were in the office. She just nodded, almost collapsing onto the cushions and turning on her side, attempting to block out the light and the sound.

Lying on the couch, curled away from him, she quickly retreated into the darkness behind her eyelids, noting that her head was feeling better already in the few seconds since she no longer had to concentrate on standing up or on the light in her eyes. She thought fleetingly of the fact that she was no longer aware of where Weller was, however, his location wasn't of primary importance to her at the moment. She heard footsteps retreating and then silence, and wondered if he'd gone somewhere. They were at headquarters for his debrief, after all, so it wouldn't be unreasonable to think that the footsteps walking away had been his. Still, a small part of her consciously wondered when he'd be back. It was her last thought before she surrendered to sleep.

Without a word, Weller strode down the hall to the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of water from the refrigerator and a small bag of pretzels from a basket on the counter. When he returned minutes later, he found Jane in exactly the same position he'd left her in, curled halfway into a ball on the couch, facing away from him and the light of the hallway. Setting the water and pretzels on the small table that sat at the end of the couch, he couldn't tell if she had fallen asleep or if she was just blocking out the world around her for the sake of her headache. "Get some rest, Jane," he whispered, just in case she could hear him.

There was no reply. He hoped that that was all she needed, and that nothing was seriously wrong with her. Yes, the EMTs had checked her over and had said that she didn't have a concussion, but they only had basic tools at their disposal in the ambulance. _She'll be fine_ , he insisted. Still, he hated to see her like this, and vowed to himself that if she wasn't feeling better when he was done with his debrief, he'd take her to be checked out. The EMT's words from earlier rang in his head: " _Someone should probably keep an eye on her for the next few hours, make sure she doesn't develop any new symptoms of head trauma."_ Jane had a serious headache, but didn't seem to have any other symptoms… Yes, he'd definitely take her to get checked out if she wasn't feeling better when he got back.

After watching her for a few more seconds, he turned and reluctantly headed for the conference room where the rest of the team was waiting for him to debrief and discuss what had happened in the last few hours.

XXX

They'd been in the conference room for what Weller swore had been two hours, minimum, but when he consulted his watch, it had only been forty-five minutes. Seeing him look down to check the time, Mayfair, who was about to speak, arched her eyebrow at him questioningly, waiting for him to explain his look of impatience. It was unlike him to be anything but focused.

Weller looked slightly at a loss, reminding Mayfair a little bit of a boy who'd lost his puppy. Sighing, she rolled her eyes slightly, knowing just from the look on his face what the problem likely was. She glanced around at the rest of Weller's team, who appeared tired but determined to get through what they needed to do so that they could be finished and leave. "Let's take a 5 minute break," she said. "Then we'll finish up and you can all go home." Everyone sighed in relief at the unexpected chance to stretch their legs, even though it meant putting off their departure by 5 minutes. Weller jumped up quickly, the other agents standing up as well, wandering toward the hallway.

"Weller," Mayfair said in her no-nonsense tone, causing him to turn around and look over his shoulder in her direction. " _Five_ minutes," she told him sternly. He nodded distractedly, and was about to leave, when she added, concern suddenly evident in her voice, "I'm sure she's fine… but go check, so you won't have to worry." Weller gave his boss a tight smile, both embarrassed by and grateful for her ability to read him so easily, nodding slightly before turning and leaving the room.

Without thinking about it, he jogged down the hall to where he'd left Jane. He found her on the same couch he'd left her on, now sitting up with her feet on the floor, her arms draped loosely over her knees. She was leaning forward, but holding her head up, not seeming to be focused on anything in particular.

"Hey," he said softly as he approached. At the sound of his voice, she looked up and smiled slightly as he added, "How's your head?"

"A little better," she replied softly, nodding slowly as she spoke and looking up at him. Once again, there was something about looking into her eyes that made it impossible for him to look away… not that he had the urge to do that. "I can keep my eyes open and form sentences, at least." She smirked slightly, knowing that those shouldn't be the big accomplishments that they felt like at the moment.

A slow, amused grin crept across his face. Really, he was just glad to see her doing better, and to see her smile at him.

"Are you done?" she asked, looking past him down the hall towards the conference room he'd come from.

"No, we've got a while yet to go. I just…" his eyes darted around sheepishly. _Spit it out_ , the voice in his head insisted. "I just wanted to come and check on you. Make sure you were okay."

Now her smile reached all the way across her face, and his widened in response as well. "I'm okay," she said softly, adding "thanks," in a voice that was barely a whisper. He couldn't help but glance at the floor before his eyes were pulled back to hers a second later. Their eyes stayed locked on each other for a long minute, neither of them able to disengage.

Finally, Weller, once again hearing Mayfair's warning tone in his head uttering the words _Five minutes_ , glanced back down the hall in the direction from which he'd come. "I'd better get back," he said hesitantly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I'll see you later." Her eyes threatened to swallow him again, but he fought the attraction, knowing that he really did have to get back.

"You going home?" he asked, adding, "You could probably use the rest."

Her face clouded over slightly at the mention of "home," he noticed with interest, and she shook her head, though carefully. "Not yet," she said with certainty. "I'm in no hurry."

Despite her slightly strange reaction, for some reason the fact that she wasn't leaving yet made him smile, and he felt slightly relieved. "I'll see you a little later, then," he replied. She nodded as he turned to walk back down the hall. As he walked, he had to fight the urge to glance back over his shoulder at her. Behind him, she didn't attempt to fight the smile that had taken over her face.

Watching him go, she wondered what in the world was wrong with her. It made her slightly uncomfortable to have her feelings seem to spike when she was around him the way they did, and yet… the best way she could describe what she liked about the feeling of being around him was familiarity – she realized that the combination of slight discomfort and familiarity made no sense, and that familiarity was impossible because they'd only known each other a few days.

 _And yet, his name is tattooed in bold letters on your back_ , the voice in her head reminded her. _That has to mean something_. She was willing to concede that this was possible, though _what_ it meant was beyond her. It was just another mystery that she had no idea how to solve – as if she needed another one of those.

Yawning, she stretched out her arms and leaned back on the couch to wait for Weller and the team to finish their debrief. She could go home now, of course, but… why? Nothing and no one waited for her there, only silence. The silence of the FBI headquarters building was preferable to the silence of her safe house. At least here, the silence could be broken at any moment by the next looming crisis. Not that she wished for there to be a crisis somewhere in the country that needed to be dealt with, however, she did welcome any and all distractions that took her away from her thoughts, whether large or small.

Sitting on the couch, she thought about Gibson. And Chao. And Musgrave. And Weller – more about him than the others, since she had more information to consider, and since he was the only one of those that she _enjoyed_ thinking about. She thought about anything and everything she could think about to avoid thinking about _herself_ … though something told her that she wouldn't be able to avoid thinking about the subject of herself for long, as much as she wanted to.

 _One step at a time,_ she told herself.


	26. Let's Get Out Of Here

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

The rest of the debrief had taken what had felt like hours, and the team was drained. Mayfair had dismissed them, and Reade, Zapata and Patterson had filed out of the conference room without having to be told twice. Before Weller had a chance to leave, however, Mayfair called him back. He'd come to learn that that was the price of being the lead agent – he was usually the last one dismissed. It didn't bother him, though. He actually appreciated that she valued his opinion and his judgement so highly that she reserved some things to discuss between just the two of them.

As soon as the others were gone, she got right to the point. "If you think Jane is Taylor Shaw…"

"I do," he replied confidently before she finished her thought.

"I want to be certain. I've already ordered Shaw's old case files to be sent to our lab. Patterson can test Taylor's DNA against Jane's." She knew that he was invested in this case. If he had been anyone else, she would have taken him off of it and gotten a new lead agent. Against her better judgement, however, she had decided to allow him to stay on – with careful monitoring.

Kurt leaned down over the back of the tall leather chair in which he'd been sitting only a moment before. "It's gonna match," he told her. There was simply no question in his mind.

"I don't know," she replied insistently. "If she _is_ Taylor, where's she been for twenty-five years? Where did she learn these skills? And why did someone erase her memory and send her back to you? It doesn't make sense."

Kurt stood up, looking back at his boss patiently. He understood what she was saying, and he had the same questions. The one question that he didn't have, however, was that this was the same girl he'd failed to find for the past twenty five years. He couldn't prove it – no _yet._ He just _knew_.

"It's her. I can feel it," he told Mayfair on his way out of the conference room. Kurt could see the points that she was making, and yet… even in the face of so many questions, the more he thought about it, the more he looked at Jane, the more certain he became. _Jane_ may not remember being Taylor, but somehow he just _knew_ that it was her _._ He didn't need proof to be sure – though he fully understood why others did.

After leaving Mayfair in the conference room, he went back to look for Jane on the sofa where he'd left her. He was a little surprised to find it empty – though he had left her there quite a while ago. Hoping that it was a good sign that she was up, he started in the direction of the locker room, thinking that maybe he'd find her along the way. A few minutes later he saw her, leaning against a wide pillar in the bullpen-style open area where agents milled about, at work on their various tasks. Her back was to him, but even so he could see that she appeared distracted, biting her nails and appearing to stare at nothing. "Hey," he said as he walked up beside her. "You okay?"

She sighed heavily, looking down and away before her eyes came back to Weller. "I can't stop thinking about Gibson." Now it was Weller's turn to look away. Jane's singular focus continued to surprise him. Clearly, her head was feeling better, which he was glad to see. He looked back at her as she began speaking again. "What he did was terrible, but some part of him was just trying to help." She looked up at him as if pleading for him to understand.

It was amazing to Weller that Jane could empathize so strongly with someone who'd done such terrible things. While it was a little frightening, it was also admirable. After all, not just anyone would be able to see good in someone who'd done so much evil. That juxtaposition was simply too difficult for most people. It was always easier to see black and white, good vs. bad. Especially considering her lack of FBI training, it was really quite impressive how sensitive Jane was to the shades of gray involved in their work.

Weller looked back at her evenly, pausing for a minute to find the right words. He saw her point, of course, and he could see why she was conflicted. Still, Gibson's good intentions didn't excuse him from the consequences of what he'd done. "He let vengeance cloud his thinking," Weller began evenly. "It's one thing to want to blow the whistle… Another thing to take lives."

She could see his point, and she didn't disagree. As much as she hated that there was no way to erase the devastation of what Gibson had done in the name of good intentions, she knew that Weller was right.

Her mouth twitched slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she said, "Thank you for what you said earlier. About my instincts. And for everything." She suddenly found herself unable to look away from him, and the tone of her voice rose just a little bit at the end of her slightly awkward thank you, as she felt her voice begin to fill with emotion that was dangerously close to overflowing. Somehow she was finding herself feeling that way around him more and more.

He looked down for a second before meeting her eyes again. "What happened to you was horrible, Jane," his head shook side to side quickly, as if to dismiss the bad memories from their presence. "But good can come of it."

Their eyes stayed locked intently on each other, almost mesmerizingly so, neither of them able to look away – not that they wanted to. Jane was the one to break the silence first. "I've been thinking about it. I might just be the messenger, but your name is still on my back. They could've just said 'FBI.' Why did they send me to you?" It was the same thing Weller had been thinking all along – that it meant something that _his_ name was tattooed onto her skin. She didn't have the memories that he did of their childhood, but his name on her back was a big part of the reason why he was so sure that she was Taylor – though not the _only_ one, of course.

Weller felt that his hunch made a lot of sense – at least inside his head – but it wasn't something he could share with her, no matter how desperately she wanted answers. Not yet, at least. Getting her hopes up without any proof… as sure as _he_ might be that she was Taylor, if he was wrong, the disappointment that she would face would simply crush her. No, it would be cruel to give her that degree of hope when it was still so uncertain. They had to do the test first, and be sure.

Her expression was pure anguish, and he only wished that there was something he could do to ease her pain. "I don't know," he almost whispered, though he hated to admit it.

Their eyes were still on each other when Patterson approached them, seconds later, to tell them that she had found out that Chao had been poisoned. There had obviously been someone who hadn't wanted Chao to tell anyone what he'd known. Weller recalled that there had been a doctor on the surveillance tapes from the hospital, walking away calmly when everyone else was rushing _toward_ Chao's room… but they'd found no trace of him. At this point in the case, the fact that yet another of their leads had just disappeared without a trace seemed almost laughable, a "coincidence" that couldn't be simply a coincidence, an absurdity… except for the fact that it was so painfully real.

Patterson walked away, leaving Weller and Jane still staring at each other. Inside, Jane could feel herself falling, farther and farther into an abyss that she couldn't see, only feel. She closed her eyes for a second, attempting to stabilize herself, but feeling like she was only falling faster. Willing herself not to fall apart yet again, she forced her eyes back open, revealing a pained expression that hurt Weller's heart to see.

She hated to feel so helpless, but how could she not? Chao was gone, and now their only possible lead to tell them what had happened to him had dried up as well. Every time she gave herself permission to hope that something would go right, that they'd found the loose thread that would set in motion the unraveling of this whole mess, somehow they always ended up back where they started. With lots of questions and no answers.

The lack of progress frustrated the FBI agents around her, but it went much deeper for Jane, of course. After all, this was their job, but this was her _life._ If they didn't find the answers, ultimately they still went home to their real lives at the end of the day. Without answers, she went home to an empty safe house, devoid of any personality or meaning, simply four walls within which she would sit and stare at nothing if she was lucky (and rage against herself and the world if she wasn't), and then eventually, when the universe was kind enough to allow her to escape from the turmoil around her for a few hours, she would sleep… only to wake up the next morning and begin the whole painful process over again. It was simply too much.

She knew that she needed to pull herself together, to take a step back and take it all one thing at a time. She _knew_ this, and yet, she couldn't seem to make herself do it. After staring into Weller's eyes with an increasingly desperate expression on her face for several minutes, she found herself staring off into space somewhere past his left arm, unable to focus as her mind began to spin out of control. _It's not getting better_ , that voice in her head that seemed to so enjoy torturing her cackled. _There are no answers, always just more questions._

Weller watched her with increasing concern. Something was happening inside her head, something that was affecting her so completely that he felt like he could almost hear the wheels turning inside her head. She was suddenly somewhere else, and he watched as the tension in her became more and more obvious with each passing second. Meanwhile, there he stood, helpless to stop wherever her spiraling thoughts were taking her.

Finally, he decided that he needed to do something. He knew that of everyone in the world, he had the best chance of reaching her – it wasn't arrogance, it was simply a fact, based on his observations. Unless he was wrong, which he was fairly sure that he wasn't, she was standing before him and drowning in her own mind. And so, resting his left hand gently on her right bicep, he paused and waited for her to notice the contact and come back to reality.

"Jane," he said quietly, "are you okay?" He felt silly for even asking. So much was definitely _not_ okay, how could he even think that it was a possibility? But that was just what you said to people, even when you knew they weren't okay, as if giving them the option made it easier somehow. He watched as she seemed to come back from wherever she'd gone, her eyes slowly focusing back on him. She sighed heavily then, the slightest trace of a sad smile curling just the corners of her lips as she nodded ever so slightly.

"Yeah," she whispered simply, looking anything but okay.

"How's your head?" Weller asked, thinking that since she'd been able to hold a conversation at all, her head must have been significantly better than it had been when they'd arrived there a few hours before.

"Better," she replied, nodding slightly, "headache's almost gone, actually."

Weller smiled then, glad that she'd at least gotten some kind of relief. "Good," he said. "Why don't you let me take you home?"

"Oh, that's okay, you don't have to…" she assured him immediately, not even sure why she was refusing. _Surely, he just wants to get home himself,_ she thought. _After the day we've had…_ "my security detail is right downstairs. They can take me." It wasn't that she didn't _want_ him to, it was just… sometimes the looks were so intense between them, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself – though she definitely didn't hate how it felt to have his attention. Saying no had been more of an automatic reaction than anything else, she realized after the words had spilled out. She wished that she could've taken them back.

Her regret must have showed on her face, because Weller raised an eyebrow at her, his mouth curling into his trademark smirk… she was sure that he could somehow read her thoughts just then, and felt her cheeks getting slightly warm as she smiled involuntarily back at him. _Damn you, Weller_ , she thought.

He paused, then, still looking very amused, asked, "You sure?"

What could she say? She weighed her options carefully for a fraction of a second. She could accept a ride, and have the pleasure of his company for a little longer before being in the safe house by herself for the evening – that dead quiet safe house, where she was alone with only her thoughts for company… or she could say no, and go home with her security detail, which included a random pair pulled from a group of agents who treated her politely, but like a stranger they were assigned to watch – which she couldn't fault them for, because that was what she _was_ – and be alone with her thoughts even sooner. This was not really a hard question. Even if she _hadn't_ been fond of Weller – which she could admit to herself that she was – she might have said yes just to put off the inevitable time alone with only her thoughts for company.

Her smile betrayed her before the words even left her mouth, spreading from one corner to the other. "Okay," she said sheepishly, glancing down at the floor and feeling ridiculous, like a teenager who was giddy because the cute boy was paying attention to her – not that she remembered what that felt like, of course. Weller's smile, while slightly more reserved, lacked none of the warmth of Jane's as he looked back at her.

"Come on," he said, nudging her shoulder with his upper arm. "Let's get out of here." They headed for the locker room to grab their things, walking in companionable but comfortable silence. Jane wondered at how she could sit alone in her safe house all night – because sleep hadn't become a habit for her there yet – without any more noise than the silence that hung between Weller and herself now, and yet the silence in her safe house thundered in her ears, assaulting her senses and overwhelming her completely. The silence between Weller and herself was… how would she describe it? _Soothing_. _Peaceful. Familiar._ She was surprised by that last one – _nothing_ that she could remember had been familiar to her up to this point. No wonder she craved his presence.

It wasn't until they were settled in Weller's black SUV that either of them broke the silence, comfortable though it was. "You hungry?" he asked her, turning to look at her with that half serious, half smirk that seemed to find its way onto his face more and more often.

She tilted her head slightly, considering it. _Am I hungry_? she asked herself. Her stomach rumbled loudly in response at the mere thought of food. When had they eaten last? The day had been so non-stop, she was fairly sure that none of them had eaten anything since breakfast… at least not that she knew of.

Weller, obviously having heard the answer before she'd had a chance to speak, grinned slightly, nodding and turning back to the road. "Let's grab some dinner. What do you say?"

What did she say? What _could_ she say? She'd be crazy to decline, and she knew it. "Sounds good," she finally replied with a smile, attempting not to look quite as happy as she felt about the prospect of having his company for a little longer. He didn't ask her any questions about her preferences, for which she was grateful – since obviously, she wouldn't have known how to answer anyway. That knowledge was frustrating, but at the same time, being around someone who _knew_ that about her, someone to whom she didn't have to explain herself, just felt even better because of it. It made her that much more grateful for Weller's presence.

"I know a great place," he said, glancing at her quickly, then looking back at the road. She simply nodded, deciding not to point out the obvious, nor to let herself wallow in thoughts of how little she knew about herself, about what she had once liked to eat. They both knew it, and it was just a part of who she was right now… but it didn't have to define her. She didn't have to _let_ those thoughts control her. She'd spent so much time doing that already, and she had no doubt that those kinds of helpless thoughts would again overwhelm her before long… But at that moment, however, it was so much nicer to just enjoy where she was, and Weller's company. There would be plenty of time for overthinking later.


	27. The Eye of the Storm

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: This chapter seems to have taken on a life of its own, because it's MUCH longer than my usual ones… and yet it didn't seem right to break it in half. So here it is. It's possible that it's a little too much "Jellery cuteness." But then again, if you're still reading this story, chances are that you like "Jellery cuteness," in which case, you'll probably enjoy it. In any case, I hope you do!_

They pulled up along the curb on a nondescript block, and Jane couldn't help but wonder if _this_ was the great place that Weller had been talking about. The building, which housed several shops and businesses alongside each other, was in need of repair, with the plaster missing from a few spots along the long front wall and at both ends. The sidewalk in front of it showed the same amount of wear and tear. As Jane got out of the SUV, she noted that cracks had formed in several places within the borders of the cement squares, which allowed one side to now sit slightly higher or slightly lower than the other, moved by weathering and erosion. Small tufts of grass now grew out from the spaces in between. It was definitely the kind of sidewalk you'd easily trip on if you weren't paying attention to where you were walking.

Weller had walked around the car quietly, and was watching her reaction as she stood still and looked around. "It doesn't look like much, but just wait…" he told her, grinning excitedly. She could tell that this was a favorite restaurant of his, because a few minutes before, he had looked tired, but now his eyes were lit up excitedly, like a little kid about to get a new toy.

While the prospect of eating at one of his favorite "hole in the wall" restaurants in the city, simply called _Mama's_ , had given Weller a second wind despite the long, exhausting day, the real reason for the smile on his face was that he couldn't wait for Jane to try it out. No matter how exhausting the past few days had been for him, he couldn't even begin to imagine what they'd been like for her. The more he watched her and allowed himself to think about how it must feel to be in her situation, the more he wanted to somehow make things better. He'd always just been that kind of guy – it was how he'd ended up in the job that he had. As if someday, by righting the wrongs of the world he could make up for his failure to protect his best friend all those years ago… and if she really was Taylor, well… maybe he actually could.

Because of this compulsion to help, it seemed like the least he could do was to help her create some happy memories amid all of the chaos and confusion that was obviously threatening to overwhelm her. At least, he _hoped_ she'd like this place. Either way, they both had to eat… and it _was_ still early evening. Judging from her reaction when he'd suggested dinner, sitting alone in her safe house was one of the last things she wanted to be doing. Considering that she was basically alone in the world, it made sense.

 _You don't usually worry this much about subjects of your investigations, Kurt,_ he told himself.

 _Shut up,_ he told himself. _I've never had a case like this before. I'm exactly as concerned with her well-being as I should be._

Jane followed slowly behind Weller toward the front door of the restaurant. The sign above the door was written in elaborate, looping cursive script, and she paused for a second as she read it. _Mama's_. The word made her feel an instantaneous twinge – it didn't even last long enough for her to identify it before it was gone again, and she shook her head slightly, pushing it away. _It doesn't matter_ , she told herself, even though she knew it was a lie. That word meant something to people. People who were not her, anyway. But she saw Weller watching her, and she refused to allow herself to entertain those darker thoughts. They would overwhelm her sooner than later, but at this moment she simply refused to allow it.

Weller was watching her because she'd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, appearing to take everything in. That was fine with him. After years at his job, he was constantly taking in all of the details of a situation just out of habit. He saw her look up at the sign above the door, and then noticed the look that passed across her face for just a split second. It was gone in an instant, but it was enough for him to register it. _Things just aren't going to be easy for her anytime soon,_ he thought sympathetically.

"Jane? You okay?" he asked. He had a guess about what had caused the reaction he'd seen, but he wasn't going call her out on it. After all, he could be totally wrong. Even if he was right, she may or may not want to talk about it at that moment. He watched her for her reaction so that he could decide on his.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," Jane replied, looking at him and smiling as if nothing had happened. Glancing at the ivy on the walls, she decided that despite the fact that it seemed slightly run down, she liked the look of the place very much so far. There was something homey about it. Then she added, "I think I'm hungrier than I thought I was. And something smells _really_ good in there."

"Yep, everything's really good in there," he assured her, walking the last few steps to the door and holding it open for her. It was a simple gesture, but combined with the goofy smile he was giving her just then, it struck her as especially endearing. She couldn't help but smile warmly back at him as she walked past him through the door, holding eye contact until she was just in front of him, and then glancing down shyly as she walked by.

 _Why do I feel like I'm blushing?_ _ **Am**_ _I blushing?_ she wondered in surprise, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Weller seemed to have this effect on her a lot. It was something about the way he looked at her. It was the opposite of the way most people seemed to look at her, and she had to admit that she was slightly addicted to it. When others looked at her, they only saw her tattoos, and looked at her like she was some kind of freak, someone they should be afraid of. When Weller looked at her… well, she didn't really know what he saw, but the look he'd get on his face told her that she was anything _but_ a freak. It really wasn't surprising, therefore, that his company was so calming to her. After all, everyone wanted to feel accepted.

She couldn't bring herself to turn around and look at him, afraid that her cheeks were as flushed as they felt. By the time she had taken the few additional steps to the podium, he was beside her again. Without looking, she could feel him glance at her, but she just smiled straight ahead at the middle aged, dark haired woman who stood watching her. Even without looking at Weller, however, she could feel him smile at her. She didn't know why his presence near her felt so reassuring, only that it did.

Pulling her mind back to reality, she noticed that the hostess' smile didn't falter as she welcomed them, looking from one to the other as if they were anyone else. There was none of the shock or disgust or fear that Jane normally saw in the eyes of the few non-FBI people she encountered from time to time when they saw her tattoos. Even after only a few days, she'd gotten used to being stared at with varying degrees of hostility and disdain. It even happened in the halls of the FBI, though to a lesser degree.

"Ahh, Mr. Kurt, nice to see you again," the dark haired woman told Weller, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of them, her smile unwavering.

"Anna, I told you… just Kurt. No mister," he told her lightly.

 _So this really_ _ **is**_ _one of Weller's favorite places_ , Jane thought. _The hostess knows him by name._

The woman – Anna – grinned and shook her head at him, but let the issue drop. "Two tonight?" she asked.

Jane nodded, just as Weller answered, "Yes."

"You want your regular table?" Anna asked Weller.

"Yes, please," he told her, to which she just nodded and began walking away. They followed her toward the far side of the restaurant, near the back corner, to a table beside a large window that looked out on a small, well-kept garden that was encircled by a red brick courtyard. A tiny, bubbling fountain sat in the middle. Jane couldn't help but stare out at it, feeling suddenly calmer. From the outside, she'd never have suspected that something so tranquil existed behind such ordinary looking walls.

Anna set their menus on the table and then left with a smile, telling them to enjoy their meal. Weller settled into a chair, glad to finally have a moment to relax after the day they'd had. He noticed that Jane was still standing, looking out at the garden.

"That's the reason I usually sit back here," he told her. "Some days this place is the eye of the storm for me. The only quiet place in the midst of chaos on all sides." She just nodded, stared at it for a few more seconds, then slowly sat down across from Weller, glancing out the window to the left of her again.

"It looks so peaceful," she replied serenely. Weller just smiled, glad to see that Jane seemed to like this place that he liked so much himself. It was far from modern, some might say "well worn" if they were feeling generous, but in the dim lighting illuminated mainly with strings of lights draped haphazardly across the ceiling, as far as Weller was concerned, the place just oozed charm. Glancing at Jane one more time and smiling at the happiness on her face, he had to force himself to look down at the menu, trying to decide what to order.

Jane only reluctantly tore her eyes away from the view out the window. "I bet this place is a big hit with the ladies," she said teasingly. _Why in the world did I just say that?_ she wondered to herself, slightly shocked at the words she'd just uttered, and afraid that she was blushing again. She could only hope that in the dim lighting, it wouldn't be too obvious.

He watched the playful smile as she spoke, and saw her expression turn to one of surprise almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, as if she had suddenly channeled someone else and then been as surprised to hear those words as he had. He just chuckled. She may even have been blushing, but it was too dark to be sure.

"Well, it's not for everyone," he replied, thinking of his ex, Allie. She hadn't been especially partial to this place, preferring the flashier, trendier ones downtown. Those had their appeal as well, but there was something about this place that he preferred. Maybe it was as simple as Jane had said, that it felt peaceful. He certainly craved _peaceful_ in his insane life. He'd brought Allie there once, but besides that, he'd just come alone or occasionally with Sarah and Sawyer.

"Who could _not_ love this place?" Jane asked, finally looking away from the garden to glance around at the interior of the restaurant, taking it in once again. Her eyes rested on the tiny candle in the middle of their table for a few seconds before she spoke. Something had just occurred to her. "Of course, I have nothing to compare it to, so my opinion doesn't really mean much…" Doubt had crept across her face, and she bit her bottom lip, finally looking up at him.

Once again, her words tugged at his heart, and he knew that he was playing with fire. He flirted with the idea of telling her his theory, about her being Taylor, because she suddenly seemed so distraught by the fact that she didn't know herself, and he thought that that might give her something to hold onto. But his logical mind got the better of him, and he stopped the words before they'd traveled from his brain to his mouth. Voicing something that was strictly based on gut feeling, no matter how strong, would be irresponsible. And on the outside chance that he was wrong? That would end up being even more devastating to Jane. The last thing he wanted to do was to make things worse.

"Well, personally _**I**_ love this place, so _I_ think your opinion is right on the money," he told her. "You can't help it if you get to see the good stuff first. It just means everything else will pale in comparison." He hoped that she would believe that he wasn't just saying those things to make her feel better, and slowly he watched the light come back into her eyes.

Finally glancing down at her menu, Jane felt her stomach now angrily demanding her attention. "So, what's good here?" she asked Weller, changing the topic.

He looked up, appearing chagrined. "It seems like a cop out to say that everything's good here, but honestly, I haven't had anything here that I didn't like." He paused and watched her expression as she glanced back at the menu dubiously. _That doesn't help her, idiot_ , he told himself. He realized that she had absolutely no idea where to start. "Do you want a suggestion?" he asked cautiously. They were skirting a potentially sensitive topic – the fact that she didn't know her own likes and dislikes – and he tried to be as aware of his words as possible.

"Sure," she replied, looking up at him across their menus. Her voice sounded normal and the smile was still intact on her face, and yet her eyes seemed to scream _Please help me!_ Realizing that she was probably letting herself overthink the whole menu situation, more so the longer she stared at it, he knew he needed to be a little more specific, and not waste any more time.

"Well," Weller began thoughtfully. _What do you recommend to someone who has absolutely no idea what they like or don't like? He'd certainly never been in that situation before._ "You could start with something basic, like spaghetti. Long noodles, tomato sauce, and meatballs. And you can try whatever I get too, so you'll get to try two things."

The dizzying array of choices on the menu, none of which she had any feelings about whatsoever, had been making Jane's head begin to swim, not helped at all by the fact that she was lightheaded from hunger, so she was glad for Weller's suggestion. She could see how hard he was trying to put her at ease. While she couldn't say that she didn't feel slightly anxious about the prospect of choosing from an assortment of foods about which she had no memory of her preferences, it could have been worse. At least she wasn't doing it alone.

"Sounds like a plan," she told him, glad to be able to close her menu and the chaos it contained, pushing it across the table and as far away from her as possible. Weller noticed how quickly she agreed to his suggestion and discarded her menu, and tried to imagine looking at an entire menu of unfamiliar foods. He was flooded with a feeling of protectiveness towards her, or something like it. He wished there was something he could do to make things easier for her.

The waitress came by just then – a young brunette – likely still in high school – with her long hair neatly pulled into a low ponytail and a small pad of paper and pen in her hands. She glanced nervously at Jane, her eyes growing slightly wider as she noticed more and more of the tattoos that protruded from beneath her clothing, then looked at Weller, relaxing slightly and smiling in recognition.

Jane had noticed the way the girl had looked at her, and tried to ignore it. She knew that she had no other choice, but she just couldn't help but feel self-conscious. While she knew that it was silly to care about the way their waitress looked at her, especially considering how young the girl was, she just couldn't stop it. Logically, she knew that she was too old for such nonsense. The problem was that whatever experiences most people have in dealing with other people's opinions of them – many of which _do_ occur in high school – Jane couldn't remember any of hers. She lacked the thick skin that most people have grown by their thirties, and she felt out of place and self-conscious and she _hated_ it.

So she quickly looked away, back out the window, trying to recapture the serene feeling that looking at the garden had given her the first time. She wanted to dislike this girl, but really just felt the negative feelings reflecting back onto herself, even though it didn't make any sense. It wasn't as though _she'd_ been responsible for any of this, after all, and she knew it was ridiculous to let a critical look from a high schooler bother her. And yet, she couldn't change the fact that it _did_.

"Hey, Kurt," Jane heard the girl said. "Haven't seen you for a while. How's everything?"

Weller smiled back at their waitress, shrugging his shoulders slightly. He couldn't remember her name, but she was a nice enough kid. He was impressed that she could remember _his_ name, considering how many people came through the restaurant every day. "Well, you know, work's been crazy…" _That might be the understatement of the year,_ he thought.

Jane heard the girl call Weller by his first name. _Everyone seems to know him here,_ she thought _._

Having regained her composure somewhat, Jane glanced back up at the waitress, noticing how the girl's expression had changed now that she was looking at him. She would be willing to bet that the girl had a little crush on Agent Weller, and the thought was amusing to her. _Oh course she does. He's a nice guy, he has a charming smile…_ she thought. It occurred to Jane that the girl might think the two of them were on a date. She found this thought even more entertaining. Still, she couldn't forget the look the girl had given her before she'd began giving puppy dog eyes to Weller.

Weller ordered for both of them, and the girl disappeared without giving Jane another look. As she walked quickly back toward the kitchen, Jane realized that she was watching her with a mix of amusement and a hint of a scowl on her face, despite having attempted to keep her expression neutral.

 _It's not her fault,_ she tried to reason with herself. _You_ _ **do**_ _kinda look like a freak after all. And just think, she can't even see most of the tattoos… imagine if she knew how many there are…_ Jane shuddered slightly to herself, closing her eyes to force herself to stop watching the door that the girl had disappeared through.

"She's a nice enough kid." Weller's voice broke through her suddenly racing thoughts. She opened her eyes in surprise – she hadn't even realized that she'd closed them – and found him looking at her with concern. She looked down at the table, suddenly feeling herself fighting back a wave of emotion.

"Don't take it personally, Jane," he said softly, a sympathetic look on his face. She started to open her mouth to protest, but he beat her to it. "I know, it's easy for me to say…" He trailed off, not sure how to make it better. He'd seen exactly what had happened between the women, and somehow he thought he knew precisely how the wheels in Jane's head had moved since then. Judging from the fact that she hadn't denied anything so far, he was pretty sure that he was right.

 _Don't take it personally? Seriously, Weller?_ Of course, she'd told herself the same thing, and it hadn't been any more successful than when Weller had said it. _How could someone_ _ **not**_ _take something like that personally?_ Maybe other people could, but she was having no luck herself. It wasn't logical, but logic had no place here. The fact that the waitress didn't – couldn't – know any better didn't change anything. It couldn't make Jane feel like less of a freak, or stop the feelings that were overwhelming her, threatening her with the familiar prickling sensation behind her eyes. She inhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, suddenly gripping the sides of the table as if for dear life.

 _I don't know if I can do this,_ she thought. _Except that there's no other choice…_ She felt the panic inside her increase at the thought. _That's the worst part… that this isn't going to stop. Not ever._

 _No,_ she thought, _I'm not doing this. Not in_ _ **public**_ **.** _Not in front of Weller – again._ Her eyes closed again, once again involuntarily, and she felt dizzy. _I'm just hungry_ , she insisted to herself. _I just need to eat, and everything will be fine_. She felt a slight pressure on her left hand then, and her grip on the side of the table loosened slightly. Only now realizing that her eyes were again closed, she forced them open, demanding that she get ahold of herself. She looked up and her eyes met Weller's, again staring at her with concern. A quick glance to her left revealed that the slight pressure on her left hand was his hand covering hers as she gripped the side of the table. She looked back at him, pursing her lips as she inhaled slowly, attempting to prove to herself and to him that she was fine – even if it was a lie – and feeling her face relax only very gradually as she breathed in and out deliberately, trying to think of nothing else. He didn't move his hand off of hers, and she saw the question in his eyes.

He wondered if it was the right thing to do, but his options were severely limited by the table between them. Despite the fact that they barely knew each other (except, of course, that he was sure that she was Taylor), he'd noticed that strangely, physical contact seemed to calm her best. He'd have thought that that would've been more awkward, but it had worked to calm her down on multiple occasions already. He'd known that he had to do something, watching Jane have what appeared to be the beginning of another panic attack. Putting his hand on hers seemed like the best and simplest of his few options. It was still all so new to her, and it was heartbreaking to watch.

She couldn't bring herself to answer his unspoken question in words, or even to move her head or give any kind of indication to him either way. All she could do was to stare into his eyes, which felt like the only thing keeping her sane at that moment. It was stupid, she knew, to be so affected by a look that a teenager gave her, and she know that she was going to have to get used to getting that look from people, because it was not going to stop.

 _Oh God,_ she thought suddenly, _it's never going to stop_ … panic gripped her yet again, and she felt her hold on the table tighten, the muscles in her face contracting once again.

It was strange how, as he sat and focused on her alone, he could see the exact instant a new thought brought about a change in her. He was trained to notice the smallest details, of course, to see people's tells and be able to use them to his advantage, but this was… something else. He felt the hand under his tense at the same second her saw the muscles in her face stiffen, and knew that her thoughts were running away from her again. He simply tightened his hold on her hand and held eye contact with her. There really wasn't anything else he _could_ do.

She focused on Weller in front of her, and only him. Pushing everything else out of her mind – the tattoos, the waitress, her lack of memories of her life – all of it… she just focused on him. It wasn't the first time he'd looked at her that way, of course, and most of the time she would look away shyly sooner than later. This time, however, the connection between them felt like the only thing keeping her from spiraling into panic, so she held onto it for dear life.

Finally, after what felt like ages but was actually only a few minutes, her racing heart returned to normal, and her death grip on the table began to loosen as she slowly relaxed. She brought her right hand up to rest on the table, and she let go of the table with her left hand, releasing the wood that she had clamped her fingers around so hard. She was surprised to find that he kept his hand wrapped around hers. She tore her eyes away from his for the first time in several minutes to look down at their joined hands, and as she watched, he brought them to rest on top of the table between them.

His thumb moved across the top of her hand ever so slightly. She watched it for a few seconds, before looking back up at him. She didn't know what to expect. When their eyes met again, she wasn't sure how to describe the look on his face, all she knew was that it filled her with a feeling of warmth, and made her wonder if she was reflecting the same look back at him. She couldn't identify _what_ she was feeling, only that it was something immense and powerful, something much bigger than just the sensation of Weller holding her hand… the complete opposite of the abyss that she had thought would swallow her more than once since she'd crawled out of the bag in Times Square.

A waiter – a different one than the girl who had taken their orders – came by their table with a basket of rolls then, placing it between them, both of them looking up in surprise. "Thank you," Weller said just before the young man quickly walked away. Jane suddenly realized how long he'd been holding her hand, and saw a look pass across his face – or did she imagine it? – that appeared that he'd just realized the same thing. Whatever it was, she felt him reluctantly release her hand, immediately missing the warmth of it. At the same time, she suddenly felt awkward about the last few minutes of staring into his eyes, and looked down at the rolls in front of them, picking one up to discover that it was still warm.

The next few minutes consisted of the two of them devouring several rolls each, apparently even hungrier than either of them had realized, all the while avoiding eye contact with each other. When they finally stopped eating and looked around, no longer feeling crazed from hunger, that same awkwardness between them was still there.

"Weller, I'm sorry, I—" she started, but he shook his head.

"It's okay, Jane," he said, not letting her get any farther – not that she'd quite known what she was going to say anyway. "It's going to be okay."

The look on her face became slightly pained. She wanted to believe him, but it just seemed impossible. _How_ in the world could it be okay? Even though they'd had this conversation before, more than once, she still struggled to believe it. Nodding quickly, trying to _pretend_ that she believed it and maybe convince herself in the process, her eyes darted around the room before coming to rest on Weller again. She sighed, forcing herself to smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. She knew that he wasn't fooled, it was more just the force of habit that she'd gotten into. If she pretended enough times that she was fine, maybe eventually she would be. It hadn't worked yet, but who knew?

Just then, their food arrived, which was a welcome distraction. Weller hadn't been wrong – Jane's meal, as well as the bites her offered her of his lasagna, was delicious. She decided that she was officially a fan of Italian food. Weller had also ordered two glasses of wine, one red and one white, and she had tried both, deciding she was more a fan of the red. Weller had told her that _he_ was more of a fan of beer than wine, and promised that they'd try a few another day.

By the time they left, Jane was feeling infinitely better. She had pushed the impending night alone at her safe house from her mind, and was simply enjoying the fact that she felt safe with Weller. Back in the car, she leaned back against her seat, her eyelids drifting closed and then almost immediately flying open again as she fought to stay awake.

Weller glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he drove, smiling slightly as he watched her fight off exhaustion, and losing. He hoped that this meant that she'd be able to sleep when she got home, because he was sure that she needed it after the day they'd had. He knew that _he_ definitely needed some sleep.

When they pulled up to the curb, he noticed that Jane had finally lost the battle and fallen asleep, her head leaned against the seat behind her, her face turned in his direction. She looked so peaceful, and it seemed like a shame to wake her up. It unnerved him to realize that he could have happily sat and watched her sleep for a long time.

 _Careful, Weller,_ he told himself. The line was definitely blurry on this case, but he couldn't let himself abandon it completely. He knew that he had to wake her up. After all, as much as he hated to leave her alone there, he needed to get home and sleep as well.

"Jane," he said quietly, reaching out to shake her shoulder gently. Her eyes squeezed shut for a second before fluttering open. Her face was full of sleepy confusion until she saw him, and then she smiled. It may have been the first genuine smile he'd seen on her face in hours.

"I fell asleep in your car again," she observed groggily. He just nodded, smiling. "You got some kind of sleep inducing air pumped in here, Weller?" she asked jokingly. He chuckled softly at the idea, shaking his head.

"It's an interesting idea," he told her, "but I don't think it would be wise. After all, if _I_ fall asleep, well, that wouldn't be so good, since I'm the driver…"

"Okay, fair enough," she agreed with a smile. "I guess I just like to sleep in your car."

"Well, I'll try not to take it personally," he joked, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

She laughed then, and turned slowly to open the door. She didn't want to get out, but she knew that she had to. He opened his door as well, shaking his head at her with a smile. He met her on the sidewalk as she slowly climbed out of the SUV, stretching her tired muscles.

"Are you sure you're okay? You went through a lot today," he asked her with concern.

"I'm fine," she said, touched by his thoughtfulness. She looked at him, noticing him staring back at her intently, almost as if he was trying to read her mind. It made her think of earlier, at the restaurant, when the look on his face alone had kept her from falling into the abyss of her mind. "Thank you," she added, "for…" She wanted to elaborate, but couldn't find the words. Finally she just closed her mouth in defeat, looking down before peeking back up at him tiredly.

He just shook his head. It was the least he could do, after all. Whether or not she was Taylor… did it matter? He would've helped her either way, of course… but deep down, he just knew that she was. How else would he have felt that connection to her from the very beginning? She had to be her.

"It's going to get better," he told her again. "We're going to figure it out."

 _He sounds so sure_ , she thought. _How can he be so sure?_ Still, she wanted desperately to believe it, so she chose to let herself. _He has the resources of the FBI behind him, after all. Surely they can figure it out._

"Thanks," she said in a whisper. They stood there, less than twelve inches between them, neither of them exactly sure what to do next. The air was charged between them, and there was some sort of magnetic force holding their gazes on each other. Still, neither of them moved.

"Good night, Jane," Weller said softly. He didn't move, and continued starting into her eyes. _Crap,_ he thought. _I'm in trouble. Get your head in the game, Weller_. _And for God's sake, stop acting like a lovesick puppy._ Still, he didn't move.

"Good night," she replied just as softly and standing just as still. _I'm going to have to move_ , she told herself. But she didn't want to.

After another minute, Weller chuckled, shook his head and looked at the ground, breaking the spell. Jane bit her lip, laughing at the two of them as well, but still watching him. "Okay, we're bad at this," she laughed.

"I guess so," he replied, glancing back up. "Get some sleep," he told her.

"You too," she said, forcing herself to turn and walk up to her door, pulling her keys out of her pocket. He watched her from the sidewalk, transfixed once again. _You need to get in your car and drive home_ , he ordered himself. _Right now._ And yet, there he stood.

She pushed the door open, removing her key from the lock, but then turned and smiled at him over her shoulder before she went in. Why in the world was he still standing in the same spot on the sidewalk? Laughing, she called, "Go _home_ , Weller! You're gonna collapse on the sidewalk if you keep standing there."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, nodding and slowly turning to walk back to the SUV behind him. She shook her head, chuckling at him, and turned back around to walk into the house, locking the door behind her. Looking around and surveying the emptiness, she forced herself to ignore it, walking straight upstairs to get ready for bed. The emptiness would catch up with her later, but she would hold it off as long as she could.

 _It's going to get better,_ she thought to herself, repeating his words over and over in her head as she walked up the stairs slowly.

Weller drove home as if on autopilot, his mind preoccupied. He couldn't really identify what was going on between himself and Jane, but as far as he was concerned, it was all just further proof that she was Taylor.

 _She has to be_ , he thought.


	28. I Remember You

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the characters so I can play with them a little bit._**

 _A/N: Obviously at some point, the FBI gave Jane a cell phone. For the sake of this chapter, I'm just going to assume that she had it by this point, though I can't remember if we'd seen it or not in the first 2-3 episodes._

She reached the top of the stairs, her mantra - _It's going to get better –_ still echoing in her head. For a split second she thought that she'd heard a faint noise coming from somewhere in the house, but she reminded herself that she was simply being paranoid.

 _It's a_ _ **safe house,**_ _for God's sake… You're just imagining things._

It was just too quiet, and it was getting to her, _again_. That was the whole reason she'd jumped at the chance to hang out with Weller that evening, after all… to put off the inevitable return to the safe house, where it was much too quiet.

Well, that was _part_ of the reason, anyway.

It was strange, how the same silence felt so different when she was alone than it did when she was with Weller…

 _Dwelling on it is_ _ **not**_ _going to help,_ she reminded herself.

 _What do I do now?_ she wondered, trying to change the channel on her thoughts and ignoring the voice in her head that told her that having entire conversations with herself could _not_ be normal. She wasn't hungry, having just had dinner. Still, she turned and walked back downstairs in the direction of the kitchen, though not for any reason other than the fact that she was already bored and anxious.

About halfway down the stairs, she stopped, feeling like she'd heard a faint noise again, but when she stood still and listened, she heard nothing. Not a sound. _I really need some background noise in here_ , she thought, even though she knew absolutely nothing about TV shows or movies or music, and therefore wouldn't even know where to start with any of them. She wasn't all that interested in learning about them, either. Things like that just reminded her of how little she knew – about herself, about the world... about anything. At the bottom of the stairs she stopped again, her hand still on the banister – listening, but hearing nothing.

 _See? You're being paranoid_ , the voice in her head told her. She walked slowly through the first floor, leaving her jacket on the empty dining room table – because, well, why not? It wasn't as though she was going to sit and _eat_ there. She tried not to let her thoughts go in that direction – the self-pitying one that dwelled on everything she had lost, which was basically _everything_ , knowing that it would only make things worse. Though they barely made a sound, the almost inaudible tread of her footsteps against the floorboards somehow echoed far too loudly as she ambled toward the kitchen.

At first glance, her kitchen could easily have been mistaken for a room in an uninhabited house. It was _that_ barren. There was no sign whatsoever that she'd been living there those past few days. Opening the refrigerator, she was faced with an absolute minimum of items: a pizza box – which, upon later inspection, she would find was actually empty – four other unmarked takeout containers, what appeared to be a ball of tinfoil that may or may not have actually had food inside it, and a few packets of some kind of sauce or others.

Even though she hadn't been hungry, the near emptiness of her refrigerator depressed her. It was like a metaphor for the emptiness of her life, right there in 3-D, as stupid as that sounded even to her. Suddenly she felt exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and end this day. Maybe when she woke up, she would discover that all this had been a terrible nightmare.

 _It hasn't worked so far, but hey, you never know_ , she thought sarcastically. Just being in her safe house seemed to drain the energy from her, and her good mood from earlier along with it. She closed the refrigerator and made her way back upstairs, hearing nothing but the deafening silence of the night and hating every single second of it.

Upstairs, she decided that a shower might help her relax away the tension that she felt just from being there in the silence. She turned on the shower and walked back out into her bedroom while the water began warming up, stepping out of her pants and tugging off her white t-shirt. She walked across the room to deposit the white t-shirt she'd just taken off into the hamper against the wall, still in her black sports bra and boy short style underwear. She hadn't heard a single sound, when, as she dropped her shirt into the hamper beside the wall, hands reached out of a doorway and grabbed her, setting her instantly into defensive mode.

 _What the hell was going on?_

She'd already learned that she was not helpless when it came to defending herself, but even so, Jane found herself in the tight grip of whoever it was. The unknown man had one hand over her mouth, the other wrapped around her tightly. Despite her newly discovered fighting skills, somehow this man had immobilized her in seconds. She wondered fleetingly if she knew him from somewhere… she wondered this about just about every person she came in contact with, of course, so it was almost automatic by now. However, this man had known exactly what to do to keep her from moving, despite her skill set. Was that just a coincidence?

So far he hadn't hurt her, only surprised her, and she wondered if that meant anything. Try as she might to free herself, however, he held her tightly in front of him, so that she was unable to turn around and see his face. She was breathing heavily but she could still hear him whispering into her ear. "Don't – don't make a sound," he ordered her. "Now, I'm gonna take my hand away," he told her. However, he didn't get much farther in telling her his plan, because with what must have been only a slight reduction in his grip, Jane quickly had the upper hand. What followed was a fight that left a chair broken and Jane even more bruised than she had been, though in much better shape than her attacker, who she'd flipped onto his back, breaking said chair.

In the middle of the fight, she suddenly saw a black and white image of herself and the man, outdoors in the snowy woods. Though it lasted only a few seconds, it distracted her just enough for him to grab a piece of the broken chair and hit her with it, sending her diving to one side. They ended up standing several feet apart, staring at each other as he begged her to stop fighting him. Her response was to spit out a molar that had been knocked out of her mouth in the scuffle, her face not showing that it had caused any pain whatsoever. He insisted that he didn't want to hurt her, but that didn't stop her from lunging at him again almost immediately, each fighting the other off until finally Jane had him pinned up against a wall.

His next words surprised her, because she certainly hadn't expected him to say that he was there to _help_ her, but that was exactly what he said. "How did you get in here?" she demanded.

His reply was cryptic, simply, "We avoid detection. It's part of our training." _We who?_ her mind screamed. More black and white images flashed before her eyes, the last of which was Jane herself, though with longer hair and no visible tattoos, wrapping that same strange man's arm in a bandage. From the way she looked at his bandaged arm, it appeared that they not only knew each other, but cared about each other. Her voice was soft when she heard herself tell him that he would be fine, and then they smiled at each other.

Coming back to her senses, she realized that this man wasn't a stranger after all, and though she couldn't place him, she _had_ known him at some point.

"I remember you," she told him.

"What?" he asked, looking truly shocked. "That's impossible."

Jane was really starting to get pissed off at that point. Hadn't she been through enough? Could she not expect to feel relatively safe in her own FBI safe house? And who was this man, what did he know about her and what the hell was he doing here?

"Who are you?" she demanded loudly. "Who am I?" The man promised to tell her if she let him go. Without warning she took several quick steps away from him, continuing to step back without taking her eyes off of him as he fought to catch his breath. He asked her if _they_ had found the SEAL tattoo yet, but Jane wasn't giving this man the satisfaction of getting answers until she got some of her own.

"Who did this to me?" she asked him slowly. "Why did they send me to the FBI?"

"You can't trust them," the man told her, ignoring her questions and still breathing hard. Before he had a chance to say anything else, however, gunshots cut through her bedroom window, piercing the man's chest one after another until he fell to the ground. Jumping aside in surprise, she knelt over him quickly, aghast over this man who now lay dying in front of her without ever having given her a shred of information.

 _This can't be happening. He_ _ **knows**_ _something. He knows me. He has to tell me_ _ **something**_ _._ Her mind was racing, but there was nothing she could do.

There was blood everywhere, and the man struggled to talk, but succeeded only in making a gurgling sound. In less than a minute, he was dead.

Unable to think about what she was doing, Jane scooted herself back against the nearest wall, pulling her legs up against her and hugging them tightly to her chest. She could feel herself shaking all over, and she couldn't seem to calm down. _Stop it_ , she told herself, but it took a few minutes before her heart stopped hammering in her ears. _Now think_ , _what next? Where is your phone?_ She looked around the room frantically, not seeing it anywhere. Finally she realized that it was probably still in her jacket pocket.

 _On the dining room table. Downstairs._

Swearing under her breath, she told herself that she had no other choice but to go after it. _You wandered around downstairs earlier, and nothing happened,_ she reminded herself. _If anything, it may be safer downstairs because your detail is right outside the front door._ At this point, that was of very little comfort, but she supposed that it was something. She didn't dare stand up again and leave herself exposed to the unknown shooter, if he or she happened to still be in position, so she scooted herself along the floor carefully, slowly getting up onto her hands and knees and trying to stay clear of the window through which the bullets had come as she crawled the rest of the way into the hall.

When she reached the stairs, she froze, straining to hear any noise whatsoever, whether inside or outside of the house. She heard a faraway engine and a few distant people's indistinct voices, but they both seemed to fade into quiet once again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She crept down the stairs as slowly and quietly as she could, freezing in terror every time one of the stairs let out so much as a groan or a creak beneath her weight.

Having just made it off the stairs, she took one step towards the dining room when suddenly the front door came crashing in behind her without warning, the shock of which nearly caused her to fall over in surprise. She managed to catch herself on the trim of the stairs that stuck out where the wall and the stairs met. Turning around, ready to defend herself once again, she realized that it was Weller who had just come barreling into the house.

"Jane! Are you alright?" Jane noticed that Weller looked panicked as he flung himself through the door, but began to regain his usual composure when he saw her, only just having walked past the door herself.

She found that she couldn't speak. The relief that suddenly coursed through her veins was so overwhelming that she actually had to laugh, hanging on to the railing behind her for dear life as the adrenaline began to slowly seep out of her body. Weller swung the door closed behind him, and was in front of her in a few quick steps.

"Jane, you're… are you hurt?" He suddenly looked worried again.

Finally, she found her voice. "What? I… No. I… I don't think so. But that man, upstairs… He's… I couldn't… He grabbed me… But then… Oh, God…" She was having trouble speaking coherently and she knew it. It wasn't that Weller's presence made her tongue tied – far from it. If anything, she was far more comfortable when he was around than when he wasn't. It was more that now that he was there and she knew that she was safe, her mind was free to be traumatized from the shock of the strange and yet familiar man that had been in her safe house. The one who had just _died_ right in front of her…

Weller watched as her face fell, the wheels once again clearly turning inside her head. He reached out and gently put his arm around her, guiding her through the dining room and into the kitchen, letting go of her in the doorway so that he could find a paper towel, running it briefly under the faucet to moisten it. She looked at him in confusion as he walked back towards her, still standing exactly where he'd left her in the doorway. He put his left hand on her right shoulder to keep her still and told her, "There's blood all over your face. I just want to wash it off." She just nodded, staring at him intently.

 _There's blood all over my face._ _ **His**_ _blood. Oh, God…_ Somehow, she held herself still.

She could see him in front of her, could see the paper towel moving toward her face, but even so, the cool, damp sensation she felt when it touched her skin was almost a surprise. Fighting the desire to back away from him, she forced herself to remain still, feeling his hand tighten ever so slightly on her right shoulder – not in the way the man upstairs had held onto her, as if to trap her, but in a way that held her steady. She wasn't afraid of Weller – _of course not_ – or even of being that close to him… though she certainly did notice how close to her he was standing at that moment.

Feeling her flinch slightly in the second the paper towel touched her face, he tightened his hand on her shoulder just a little, in what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. To say that she had been through a lot in the past 24 hours was quite the understatement. She'd already been through more than _a lot_ before arriving at the safe house after their dinner. He dabbed at her forehead first, the paper towel quickly turning red with the blood of the unnamed man who now had the attention of a small team of FBI agents upstairs.

Moving the paper towel slowly over her skin, as gently as he could, it only took a few seconds before it began to smudge, instead of remove, the blood. Then he pulled back his hand, folded the paper towel and repeated the action, noting that she didn't tense the second time.

The second time she watched the paper towel coming closer to her face, it was almost as though it was in slow motion. Weller had folded it to get a clean section, but she could see red slowly soaking through the layers of white. Somehow she kept her breathing even, and held herself perfectly still, concentrating solely on his hand on her shoulder, trying to keep her eyes on his face and not the offending paper towel that was moving towards her. There was something in his eyes, something she couldn't understand…

Seeing that he was going to need more than just the one paper towel, he tossed the twice used one into the trash can sitting nearby and steered her slowly towards the sink, not taking his hand off of her shoulder. She couldn't help but be glad for the continuing contact. Her thoughts were rather scattered just then, and the warmth of his hand was helping keep her attention firmly in the present moment, and not allowing her to drift back into replaying what had happened upstairs, only a very short time before. As it was, even _with_ Weller's hand on her shoulder, the images were trying to worm their way in front of her eyes, and it was taking immense concentration to keep them at bay.

To fight them off, she continued to focus on Weller, standing in front of her and cleaning the blood off of her face. She watched intently as paper towel after paper towel came away red from the blood, but finally, after wiping thoroughly across her face what felt like a hundred times, they finally came away from her face with no trace of red at all. Next, he ran his right hand under the water for a few seconds, then turned the water off and shook his hand over the sink, sending loose drops of water _plink_ ing against the metal. He squirted a small amount of liquid soap onto his fingertips, and she assumed that she was just cleaning off his hand. She expected his left hand to leave her shoulder at any moment to assist in this effort.

Instead, she watched his fingertips covered in soap come closer and closer to her face once again, the same way the paper towels had so many times already. He made contact with her skin and began rubbing the soap in tiny circles, the way she did when she washed her face at night. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because a faint smile crept across his.

"Just to be sure I didn't miss any," he told her, his voice just above a whisper. She nodded only a little, not wanting to deter his work, and mirrored his faint smile, continuing to focus on him. The motion was soothing, and she found herself calming down significantly as he worked. Too soon, he withdrew his hand, stood back just a little and studied her face before he was satisfied that it was scrubbed sufficiently, before slowly removing his hand from her shoulder and stepping out of the way so that she could turn and rinse her face in the sink. When she was finished, leaning over the sink as water dripped from it quickly, she realized that she hadn't considered what she would _dry_ her face with.

"Here," Weller said from beside her, holding out several more clean paper towels. She looked at him and smiled once again, taking them silently and blotting the water from her face. Once she was finished, the paper towel having confirmed that there was no blood left on her face, she turned back to him for a final inspection, knowing that, as protective as he had proven to be, he would insist on doing so.

He looked satisfied with his work for a few seconds, and was about to speak when she asked him, "How did you know?"

"Your detail called me," he replied. "They said they heard gunshots. They were checking the perimeter and said that there were bullet holes in one of your upstairs windows. I told them to canvas the area, but not to come inside."

A look of amusement crossed her face. "You wanted to come and save me yourself?" she asked him playfully. "What if I'd been bleeding? What if I'd needed _help_?"

He blushed slightly, realizing that his reaction had been much riskier than he'd realized at the time. _What if she_ _ **had**_ _been hit and had bled out because he told her detail not to go inside?_ The thought hit him hard. He simply hadn't been able to stand the thought of anyone else being there and not doing enough for her. _Enough?_ he thought, now confused. _What the hell are you talking about, Weller? Are you the only one who can do enough for her?_

She watched color tinge his cheeks and wondered if she'd been right, or which of her questions had caused that reaction. All of them? And then suddenly he looked pained, and she realized that she'd inadvertently hit a nerve. She'd wanted to tease him, not to make him feel guilty…

"Weller, I'm fine," she told him reassuringly. "Nothing happened to me." He nodded dumbly, wondering how much of that was simply good luck, or if the man had been the only target.

He looked at her slightly worriedly, and asked, "So, what happened, Jane? Did you know the guy?" Weller hadn't gone upstairs yet, but one of the other agents had come downstairs and given him a quick run-down of what they'd found while Jane had been rinsing the soap off of her face. He'd wanted to be 100% sure that Jane was okay before he went up there to see the scene for himself.

She took a deep breath, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms in front of her, thinking back to what had happened upstairs.

"I was going to take a shower. I turned on the water, then walked out into the bedroom to walk to the hamper. He grabbed me when I was standing right in front of the hamper. He wanted…" She paused, remembering. "He wanted to talk to me, I guess, or so he tried to tell me. I flipped him on his back almost immediately and he landed on a wooden chair. Broke it to bits," she glanced up to see a hint of a smile on Weller's face at that piece of information, and at the fact that she'd said it as if it were no big deal.

 _Of course you did_ , thought Weller. She simply never ceased to amaze him.

"He kept telling me to stop fighting him, saying he didn't want to hurt me… but I wasn't going to give him the chance. I finally let go of him, and I asked him who he was… He wouldn't answer any of my questions. I don't know… And then all of a sudden someone shot him, through the window, and he collapsed. Before he could say anything else, he was dead."

She shook her head then, emotions welling up inside her. _He told me not to trust them._ _ **Them.**_ _But who is_ _ **them**_ _? The FBI? How can I_ _ **not**_ _trust them? They're the_ _ **only**_ _ones I trust…_ She was conflicted, and because she wasn't sure what to say, she stopped there.

As always, Jane's mix of being both strong and fragile at the same time fascinated Weller. The fragile side was dominant at the moment, causing him, as he always seemed to around Jane, to feel the need to comfort her. "Come and sit down," he told her, putting his hand on her back to steer her to the couch in the living room at the front of the house. She went with him willingly, curling herself up into a ball at one end of the well-worn couch.

He looked up at Zapata and Reade, who had just walked through the front door. "Zapata," he said, "Stay with Jane for a second. I need to check upstairs. Reade, with me." He'd chosen Zapata to stay with Jane, knowing Reade's current feelings about the new addition to their team, and not wanting Jane to have to deal with Reade's attitude on top of everything else just them.

Zapata sat down at the far end of the couch from Jane and tried to smile reassuringly. "Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly. Jane just nodded. Zapata's company was better than nothing, but it didn't have the calming effect that Weller's did. The female agent simply watched her, understanding that Jane didn't want to talk just then. Zapata looked around at the safe house. She'd been there before, for other assets.

 _How in the world did anyone break in here?_ she wondered. How that had happened would undoubtedly be gone over in excruciating detail in the very near future, she knew.

Several minutes later Weller's heavy footsteps came back down the stairs, carrying a small bundle. He nodded in thanks to Zapata, who walked up the stairs without a word to survey the scene along with Reade. Weller sat down in the middle of the couch, facing her, leaving space between the two of them, but not as much as Zapata had. Without a word, he handed her the bundle in his hand. When she unfolded it, she recognized it as a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. It was only then that she realized that she was sitting on the couch with Weller in her underwear.

She could feel herself blushing crimson as she sat up, her face suddenly feeling _very_ hot as she leaned forward to hurriedly put on the t-shirt he'd handed her. Standing up quickly, she hazarded a split second glance at him, finding that his eyes were focused across the room, for which she was thankful. She pulled her jeans on in record time, wishing she could crawl into a hole then and there.

Yes, they'd found her naked in Times Square, and yes, they'd already scanned her naked body to catalog all of her tattoos, but still… she was somewhat mortified that she'd been standing there all that time in front of him in her underwear and not even noticed. To his credit, his eyes, as far as she'd noticed, had been on her face just the same way they always were… locked intently on her face, as a matter of fact. _Such a gentleman_ , she thought.

Once she'd settled herself on the couch again and felt the flush in her cheeks gradually receding, she slowly forced herself to turn and look back at him. He gave her the same small, hesitant but intense smile that he gave her so often, the one that he never saw him give anyone but her. Their eyes stayed locked on each other for almost a minute, neither of them able – or wanting – to look away.

All too soon, however, his expression became serious. "It looks like you got very lucky tonight, despite everything."

Jane just nodded. She didn't _feel_ lucky, but then again, she was alive. She was certainly luckier than the guy laying dead upstairs… _Oh, God,_ she thought, trying to push the image out of her head yet _again_ , and pursing her lips.

Weller's voice broke into her thoughts. "I'm not going to let this happen again, Jane. You're going to be moved to a new safe house. Immediately. Until we can arrange that," he paused, considering the limited options at that time of night. "The rest of the team is going back to headquarters to work on this. You're coming with us." She nodded feebly. It wasn't a question, but she had no objection to his order. Anything sounded better than being where she was, and anything sounded better than being alone at that particular moment. "That way, at least I know you're safe."

That last comment earned Weller a small smile from Jane, which surprised both of them. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, typed quickly for a moment, and then put it away again. "Let's go," he said, standing up. When she hesitated slightly, he held out a hand to her and waited. As awful as the evening had been since she'd gotten home, the look on his face now reminded her more of the earlier part of the night, the part that she wished she could have somehow captured and just lived in forever, at the restaurant. Slowly, she uncurled herself from the tight ball she'd pulled herself into, reaching up slowly and accepting Weller's help up off the couch. Could she have gotten up herself? Sure. But there was something nice about his attentiveness.

The two of them walked slowly to the door, and he motioned for her to go through the narrow opening first, just as he had at Chao's apartment. As he stood on the threshold, he turned and looked upstairs. At that moment, Zapata appeared at the top of the stairs. "Got your text. I'm on it. Reade and I've got this under control. We'll see you back at headquarters."

"Thanks," he said, nodding at her and turning to follow Jane out the door, closing it behind him. Outside, a small fleet of FBI vehicles had assembled. Weller walked toward one of numerous black SUVs, clicking the keyfab to unlock the doors, then opening the passenger side for her. She smiled faintly, settling in and then watching him as he finally closed her door and walked around to climb into the driver's side. As soon as he'd buckled his seatbelt, he pulled back out into traffic and they were on their way back to the FBI building.

All the way there, Weller kept glancing anxiously at Jane, trying to determine how she was doing. She seemed preoccupied, not speaking and mostly just staring into space. He couldn't help but think to himself that it was one of the few car rides they'd taken together where she hadn't fallen asleep against the window. He considered mentioning this to her, but taking another look at her, he decided against it. The look on her face told him that she didn't feel much like small talk just then. After the day she'd had, that was certainly understandable, nice dinner notwithstanding.

Once they were back at the FBI, Jane expected Weller to leave her to wait somewhere while he went back to work. Instead, he walked her to Mayfair's office, where they stood in the doorway as he knocked lightly on the open door. The fact that it was what regular people consider to be the middle of the night didn't seem to matter, as she was sitting at her desk, working away as though it had been the middle of the day. _Do these people ever_ _ **sleep**_ _?_ Jane wondered.

Mayfair looked up then, seeing the two of them. "Come in," she said seriously, motioning them toward two comfortable looking chairs in front of her desk. She looked at Jane first. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Jane grimaced, wanting to tell the truth but not wanting to be overly dramatic. "I'm fine," she said. "I wasn't hurt." Mayfair gave her a knowing look. "Not physically, maybe, though from the look of you, you are at least a _little_ bit worse for wear," she told the young woman in front of her. "If anything changes, you'll tell us?"

"Yes, I mean… I will," Jane replied nervously.

Mayfair nodded in satisfaction. "Agent Weller will put together the report. Anything you might remember, no matter how small, make sure you tell him," she told Jane, who just nodded, looking down. If she could gather coherent thoughts, she didn't mind telling Weller about them.

 _Don't trust them._ The bearded man's voice was in her head again, but she pushed it away. _Most_ of her thoughts, anyway.

Mayfair looked at Weller. "Get her settled, and when the rest of the team gets back, we'll meet in the screens room." Weller nodded, standing up.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you," he said. Jane stood up as well, following Weller to the door. The two of them walked out into the hall, falling into step beside each other. Jane looked at the floor, but still kept up with Weller's longer strides down the hall. When they stopped, they were in the waiting area outside Dr. Borden's office, where there were several couches and chairs arranged into groups.

Jane looked up at him in surprise when she realized where they were. Weller shook his head quickly. "We're not here for Dr. Borden," he reassured her. "I just wanted somewhere you could rest. Preferably somewhere that you'd been before."

She nodded, already thinking that she was so exhausted, she could probably sleep anywhere at that moment. Sitting down on one of the couches, she turned and pulled her feet up, tucking her legs beside her as she laid her head down on the pillow at the end. Her eyes were droopy and he watched her, thinking that she was clearly almost ready to fall asleep. He nodded at her and then took a step away, only to see the calm look on her face become perplexed, worried even. Without saying a word, just smiling at her slightly, he stepped back in her direction and sat down in the chair that sat just beside the end of the couch where her head now rested.

"Will you please go to sleep?" he asked her quietly.

"You in a hurry to go somewhere?" she asked him with a yawn, that teasing look in her tired eyes once again.

"Funny," he replied. "More like, you're exhausted."

"Am not," she smiled, and closed her eyes. _Maybe just for a minute._ After all, Weller was beside her. Something occurred to her, and she opened her eyes again quickly, before sleep claimed her.

He saw her open her eyes with great effort, fighting sleep valiantly with a slightly worried expression. At that moment, he couldn't get over the force of the emotion he felt, though he wasn't quite sure exactly _what_ emotion it was. Leaning forward in his chair and bringing himself closer to her, he told her in a low voice, "Jane, _sleep_. I'll stay right here until Zapata and Reade get back, and then I'll be in the screens room, not far away." The concern on her face seemed to be fading, but she still looked somewhat skeptical. "You're safe here. Okay?" he added.

Finally, he saw her face relax as she nodded slightly, snuggling into the pillow at the end of the couch and closing her eyes once again. Within less than a minute, her slow, even breathing told him that she was asleep. He knew that he couldn't sit there as long as she slept, but for the moment, he was glad that he could watch over her.

 _Maybe you should catch a quick nap, too_ , his mind suggested. It wasn't a bad idea, and the next closest couch was only a few feet away, facing the one that Jane was on. He stood up quietly, just watching her for a second, before walking the few feet to the other couch. Stretched out on it tiredly, he applauded himself on the very good decision. Truth be told, he was beat, but after years of practice he was just really good at convincing himself that he wasn't tired when they had a case.

He could feel his eyelids quickly getting heavy once he was horizontal, but that was okay with him. Someone would wake him when the rest of the team arrived, that much he knew for sure. As mesmerized as he was by Jane, watching her sleep was making him very tired as well. Finally, glancing at a sleeping Jane one more time, he stopped fighting it, and let his eyes fall closed.


	29. The Same As You

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around. I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 _A/N: I feel like at this point, apologies are in order. It's been over four months since I've updated this story. Granted, it isn't as though I haven't been writing – and writing exclusively Blindspot fics, too. I temporarily abandoned the stories I was writing in two other fandoms and spent the summer writing only Jeller, so hopefully I can be forgiven for putting this one to the side during that time as well. In any case, now that The Aftermath, Poison Ivy and Beach Weekend (as well as More to the Story, my cute little one shot) are all out of my system, I'm excited to get back to this one. And the way season 2 is going, I'm even happier to be back in this much simpler time. I expect to start updating this story regularly again – barring any other inspirations, of course. :)_

Zapata and Reade had gotten back from the scene at Jane's safe house a few hours after Jane and Kurt, but Mayfair had sent them home to get a few hours' sleep, telling them that they would regroup again in the morning – she knew that her agents had already been running on fumes as it was, and none of them, herself included, could go without sleep for much longer. The two had certainly not objected to this unexpected end to what had been a _very_ long day, and had left the building without even wondering whether Weller and Jane had already left, as well. After all, surely they'd been sent home as well, probably hours ago.

Weller woke up stiff, wondering where in the world he was. Before he found the energy to open his eyes, he felt his neck screaming in pain and his body protesting angrily that it was sore all over. When he did manage to pry his eyes open, his senses were assaulted by the bright florescent lights above him, causing him to squint before he'd even gotten his bearings.

 _Where_ _ **am**_ _I?_ he wondered, his mind still fuzzy with sleep. He tried to work backwards, attempting to remember what case he'd been working the night before. _What had it…?_

And then it hit him, all of it and once, and his eyes shot open. He was halfway to a sitting position within a split second, which earned him more screaming complaints of more than half of the muscles in his body. His eyes were now wide open, despite the blinding lights, but it took a few seconds before his surroundings came into focus. He was relieved to see Jane, still asleep on the couch across from him. She looked more peaceful than any of the times that she'd fallen asleep in his car in the few short – and yet long – days since they'd met.

He smiled unconsciously, watching her for a few minutes before he realized what he was doing. Glancing at the clock on the wall opposite him, he saw that for whatever reason, he'd been allowed to sleep through the night and part of the morning – it was nearly 8:00am. He reached into his pocket for his phone, where he saw that he had a text from Mayfair, sent late the night before.

Had he let her know when he'd gotten back with Jane? He couldn't even remember. In any case, her text told him to get some sleep, that she was sending Reade and Zapata home to sleep as well, and that the team would regroup at 10:00, after Patterson's team had a chance to look over the evidence from the crime scene – aka Jane's safe house. Weller wondered if Mayfair had even wondered about Jane's whereabouts, since for the moment, she didn't have a safe house. Irritation prickled through his veins on her behalf at the idea that she had been overlooked, _again_ , even though he had no proof that this was the case.

 _Maybe you checked in with her and told her that Jane was with you,_ he told himself tiredly. Yes, that must be it. He was just being irrational and he should know better... For some reason, however, Jane seemed to bring out a slightly irrational side in him, though he would never admit it to anyone else…

Just then, Weller heard footsteps in the hallway, and he stood quickly. More than likely, it was Dr. Borden arriving for work, since, he had newly remembered, they _were_ outside of his office. Weller vaguely remembered bringing Jane there the night before so that she could sleep somewhere that would be both remotely familiar as well as quiet.

Weller stood up quickly, knowing that their presence there would be a surprise to Borden, and hoping to catch his attention before he accidentally woke up Jane. A few seconds later, the psychologist rounded the corner into the waiting area outside of his office, and was obviously surprised to see Weller standing there. Before Borden could utter a word, however, Weller had his finger to his lips, and pointed to Jane where she slept on the couch opposite him. Borden nodded, tilting his head toward the door to his office as an indication that they would talk inside.

Weller followed Borden to the door, standing a few feet behind the other man while he unlocked the door and then following him inside. Once they were in the office with the door closed, Weller started his explanation for their presence.

"We had a rough night," he began. "After Gibson shot at her, there was the chase after him," Borden nodded at this, as he had been briefed late the previous afternoon before he'd left, "and Jane's SUV rolled over. Then, not long after I'd dropped her off at her safe house after dinner, Jane's detail called me to say that they'd heard gunshots. There was…" Weller took a breath to steady himself, the feeling of frustration and powerlessness of the previous night suddenly returning as he recounted what had happened. "A man had broken in somehow, and he and Jane had a pretty nasty fight… she said that she'd known him, but couldn't remember how. And then…" he paused, shaking his head, still in disbelief at everything that had happened in such a short time.

"A sniper in a building across the street shot the man, and he died almost instantly. Jane wasn't hit, she was really banged up, though." Borden simply nodded, as he had been doing throughout Weller's explanation. "We came back here – I don't even know what time it was, but after everything _else_ that had happened yesterday… she fell asleep as soon as she laid down."

Dr. Borden nodded thoughtfully. "I was already scheduled for a session with her this morning," he said evenly, "and it sounds like we'll have a lot to talk about."

Weller nodded, his eyes darting from the clock on the wall, to the door of the office. This did not escape Dr. Borden's attention. "If you need to get back to work," he told Weller, "I'll be here. She'll be fine where she is until she wakes up." Weller nodded, looking relieved. "Before you go," Dr. Borden said, standing up calmly and walking to a closet, "Here. For Jane." From the closet he had retrieved a light blue blanket which, when Weller took it from the psychologist, he found was much softer than it looked.

Nodding at Borden, Weller remembered to grumble, "Thanks, doc," before letting himself out, leaving the door open behind him so that Borden had a view of the couch where Jane was still sleeping from his desk.

As soon as Weller was back in the waiting area with Jane in view, he was once again under her spell. He slowed as he walked towards her, afraid to do anything that would wake her up. Standing in front of her, he unfolded the blanket that Borden had just given him and, leaning closer to her, spread it out as far as he could over the sleeping woman in front of him.

Dr. Borden watched from inside his office, pretending to be busy at his desk while keeping an eye on Agent Weller. It didn't take professional psychological training to know that there was some sort of deep emotional connection between Weller and their newest asset. It wasn't simply the way he looked at her, though that was a big part of it. No, it was everything about him when he was around her. Dr. Borden had only met Weller at the beginning of this case, shortly before Weller had met the woman in question, but even so, Borden could see a difference in his demeanor when he was around her versus when he wasn't.

He found it fascinating to watch the difference in Weller, especially after reading the other man's file and seeing his background. This chance to observe him gave Borden a window into the depth of Weller's feelings, though according to his coworkers, it had always been nearly unheard of for him to display any but the smallest hints of emotions while on a case. Clearly, there was something different this time.

Weller laid the blanket over Jane carefully, then squatted down in front of her and tucked it around her. _What are you doing?_ he asked himself. _The blanket's already on her. You don't need to tuck her in._ The realization made him stand up quickly, but he remained rooted to the spot for another minute as he simply stood and watched her sleep. He wished that he didn't have to leave her there, even with Borden looking out for her. He'd seen her reaction upon waking up a few times in his car now, and hated to imagine the panic in her eyes for that split second before she figured out where she was.

 _You mean, you want to see that smile on her face when she sees_ _ **you**_ _there when she wakes up,_ the voice in his head teased him.

 _Well... that could be part of it_ , he admitted to himself. But also, he just hated to leave her there, where he couldn't protect her. The last time he'd left her, at her own safe house, she'd been attacked, after all.

 _This is the FBI building,_ his mind argued, _she's_ _ **safe**_ _here._

 _That's what I thought about the safe house,_ he replied to the voice. _It's called a_ _ **safe house**_ _, for God's sake._

In an act of pure will, he silenced the arguing voices in his head. Despite not wanting to leave her there, logically he knew – or at least hoped desperately – that she would be fine. After all, he had things he had to do – for _her_ case. Things that would help _her_. Looking at her once more and wishing that he could stay there and keep watch over her, he forced himself to walk out of the waiting area and down the hall, heading to the locker room to shower and change clothes before he had to meet up with the team.

XXX

Jane woke up to the bright lights of the reception area, the same way Weller had about forty five minutes earlier. Her eyes flew open in a split second of panic, much like they had when she'd awoken in Weller's car. This time, however, it took her a little longer to remember where she was and how she had gotten there. After all, he wasn't there to remind her just by looking at her. She had to admit that she was more than a little disappointed not to see him there.

Hearing a gasp from outside his office, Dr. Borden looked up to see Jane, sitting halfway up and looking around, blinking quickly, having obviously woken up disoriented. He stood up from his desk and walked to the doorway, moving in her direction slowly. When she looked at him, he saw recognition in her eyes, and the terrified look began to fade from her face.

She looked down in confusion at the blanket that was covering her. _Where did this come from?_ she wondered. "What time is it?" she asked Dr. Borden groggily.

"Almost 8:45 in the morning," Borden replied. "How are you feeling? I hear that you had a rather big day yesterday."

It was all she could do to grimace at him, because she was realizing more and more as she woke up just how sore she was. The side of her jaw hurt like hell, and as she thought back to the events of the previous day, she realized that that made a lot of sense. Bringing her hand up to the side of her face, she winced at even the slight touch of her own hand.

"Are you hurt?" Dr. Borden asked, noticing Jane's reaction.

"Just my jaw," Jane managed to reply, though she now realized that talking made her jaw feel worse. "Everything else is just sore."

Borden nodded, saying, "I won't be a moment," and then disappeared down the hall, leaving her there sitting on the couch, the blue blanket still half covering her. She tried to focus on something besides how sore she was all over and how much her jaw hurt, but it was really difficult just then.

 _I feel like I was in a car that flipped over on the side I was in, and then in some sort of cage match with a professional fighter,_ she thought to herself, shaking her head and adding sarcastically, _Oh wait,_ _ **I was**_.

Her muscles were screaming at her from all over, and yet… suddenly all she could think of was to wonder where Weller had gone. He'd been so good to her the night before... It was all still hazy, but the pieces were beginning to come back to her. She remembered him carefully wiping the blood that had splattered across her face when the unknown man had been shot in front of her off of her face… How he'd brought her back to the FBI building, looking so worried about her…

Looking down at the blanket in her lap, she wondered again where it had come from. Without warning, the color suddenly reminded her of the color of his eyes, an intense light blue. _Get a grip_ , she told herself. _It's just a blanket_. Still, she squeezed a fistful of the soft material between her fingers, the texture of it a nice contrast to the way the rest of her body was feeling just then.

Borden returned a few minutes later with a large ice pack contained within a plastic bag, handing it to Jane. "For your jaw," he said.

She nodded, mumbling "Thanks" as well as she could without moving her jaw more than was necessary.

"Did you already have some painkillers?" Borden asked, holding a bottle in his hand.

Jane nodded in reply, trying to remember when that had been. "Yes, but the last time was… yesterday afternoon. The EMTs at the construction site in Brooklyn gave me some for my headache."

Borden nodded, opening the bottle. "Sounds like a few more may be in order now, in that case," he replied. "It looks like you have some water already." He looked at the table beside the end of the couch, where a bottle of water was sitting.

 _When did that get there?_ she wondered. She had a suspicion of who had left it there for her, and she couldn't help but smile faintly at the thought of him.

Borden approached her and shook two pills out into his hand, then put the tiny white capsules into the hand that she held out in front of her. She picked up the water bottle from the side table, opened it and quickly swallowed the pills, taking the ice pack off her face for a few seconds before the sting returned, and lifting it back against her cheek once more. This day was _not_ off to a fantastic start.

She pulled her legs up beside her and leaned into the pillow on the end of the couch on which she had been sleeping, pulling the blanket back over her lap and sighing heavily.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked her kindly. She knew that it was his job to _get_ her to talk about things, but at that moment she really did feel that he genuinely wanted to help. Despite this, he was still basically a stranger to her, and her desire to confide in him was still rather low… besides that, she couldn't help but feel like she needed a few minutes – at least – before she was ready to talk about _anything_ with anyone.

Her eyes closed as she shook her head, suddenly feeling a wave of emotions threaten to overpower her. "Not yet," she whispered, looking back up into the kind eyes of the man in front of her. He just nodded, stepping back.

At the door to his office he turned back and said. "Well, we're scheduled for a session this morning. So when you're ready, come on in. Would you like to go to the locker room and have a shower first, do you think?" She just looked at him blankly, shrugging. "Just think about it. I'm here catching up on things."

"After we're done can I… catch up with the team?" she asked hesitantly. Really, she wanted to see if there were any new developments in the case more than she wanted to do anything else.

"I would imagine so," he mused.

 _Interesting,_ he thought _,_ already seeing her determination return, despite how shaken up she obviously was by the events of the previous day.

"But we do need to talk first," he added. She just nodded, and he turned and walked the rest of the way into his office.

It wasn't until a few hours later when Jane finally wandered into Dr. Borden's office. She _had_ taken advantage of the chance to shower and change in the locker room – thanks mainly to a junior agent that Weller had dispatched the lead her back there and show her where she could find the things she needed, since he was still busy, and then lead her to the in-house doctor to have her examined. There had been no choice but to undergo a medical exam after everything that had happened to her the previous day, the junior agent had explained to her, so she had followed the other woman, whose name she had forgotten the minute she had been told, first to the clinic area, and then afterwards, back to Borden's office.

At ten thirty on the dot she had stood in Dr. Borden's doorway, frowning unhappily. To his credit, Borden had smiled at her calmly and ushered her into his office despite the slight scowl on her face. Now they sat across from each other in the same comfortable chairs, separated by a low coffee table, as they had the previous day, Jane once again clutching the ice pack to her face. Sighing heavily, she put it down on the table in front of her, looking at it in annoyance.

"Is it not cold anymore?" he asked, standing up to take the now warm ice pack. She just shook her head. He walked to a small refrigerator across the room and swung the door open, taking an identical one out and placing the now warm bag inside, then closing the door. Returning to his seat, he reached out and handed her the cold bag. As she placed it against her jaw, he saw her face relax ever so slightly in what must have been some degree of relief.

"Thanks," she mumbled. As much as she knew that Borden was trying to help her, she simply did not want to be there. She didn't want to talk to a stranger about how she was feeling, no matter how well meaning he was, or the fact that he was a professional. She didn't care that it would supposedly help, or that she had been ordered to do so. The only person who she wouldn't actually find confiding in was nowhere to be seen at that moment.

"Oh, I'd nearly forgotten," he told her, standing up and walking back to his desk, where he retrieved a white paper bag and a matching white cardboard cup. "I assumed that you hadn't had anything to eat this morning, so I stopped in the cafeteria and got you this. Sorry if the coffee has cooled off a bit," he said apologetically. He put the two items back down on the table in front of her, as she just stared at him in confusion. It wasn't that she didn't find him to be a kind person, from what little she knew of him, she was simply surprised and confused by his kindness. She had seen so few examples of kindness at all so far, each of them surprised her.

"Thank you," she said, swallowing a lump that had formed in her throat. It was only then that she realized that she _was_ hungry. Reaching into the paper bag, she pulled out a bagel, and several small containers. Cream cheese, butter and strawberry jelly. Looking up at him, understanding exactly what he was doing, she couldn't help but smile slightly. "So I know what I like?" she asked, thinking back to the coffee versus tea trials in his office not very long ago. He just nodded, smiling back at her.

She took a drink of the coffee, appreciating the warmth that it still held, and then tried the various spreads with her bagel. Because of her still aching jaw, she took small bites, but eventually she had finished the whole thing, and Dr. Borden leaned forward to take away the trash. Jane tensed, holding the ice pack against her face once more as Borden sat back down across from her, knowing that she would now be expected to talk.

After sitting and staring at a spot on the far wall for several minutes, Jane leaned forward, her right hand still holding the ice pack against her cheek, leaning her right elbow propped up against her knee. She continued to stare somewhere off in the distance, at a spot on the ground across the room.

"It's alright to be upset," Dr. Borden told her evenly.

"I'm not upset," Jane replied.

"A home invasion is—" Dr. Borden continued, but Jane cut him off.

"That's _not_ my home." Her voice was still even, but she was emphatic on this point, finally looking up at him.

He tried another track. "A break-in is an intimate violation." He paused, looking at her seriously. "But this is a real chance for us—"

Jane couldn't believe what she was hearing. _Is this man for real?_ her thoughts screamed as she interrupted him once again. "I've been drugged, my memory has been erased, my _entire body_ has been tattooed without my consent. A break-in at my safe house is the _least_ intimate of my violations."

"And feelings of anger, feelings of resentment, are completely natural." He watched her eyes move away from him, flinching slightly as he called her on exactly what she must have been feeling. He continued speaking. "Do you feel safe, Jane?"

"I can handle myself," she replied after a split second delay, a wave of determination visible in her eyes.

"I can see that," Borden replied in agreement, "but that's not what I asked." Leaning forward towards her, he tried the question again, phrased more specifically. "Do you trust the FBI to keep you safe?"

She stared at him, swallowed hard, and then looked away. It wasn't a question with an easy answer. There were only a few people in all of her short memory who even had _names_ to match with faces that she could recognize… and even most of _them_ were still basically strangers.

Did she trust the FBI? Put like that, 'the FBI' was simply a collection of people she didn't know. Did she trust a group of strangers to keep her safe? Well, all things considered, they weren't doing such a great job so far, since she'd been attacked inside her safe house after being there only a few days. Checking off the people whose names she even knew in her head, besides the man sitting in front of her at that moment, who she doubted would be much help in a situation that required someone to _keep her safe_ , the remaining people whose names she even knew were Mayfair, Reade, Zapata, Patterson and Weller.

 _Let's see,_ she thought to herself. Mayfair, Reade and Zapata looked at her skeptically, for the most part, not seeming to even trust her – did she trust them to _protect_ her? Not really, no. She doubted that Mayfair would be much help. Reade and Zapata… maybe physically able – but then again, she could somehow just imagine them standing by and watching as she was attacked, looking at her distrustfully and debating whether or not they should help.

Patterson, on the other hand, seemed kinder and more trustworthy, but knowing what she knew about her own skills versus what she had seen of Patterson so far, Jane got the feeling that if it came down to it, it would be more likely that _she_ would be the one keeping Patterson safe and not vice versa, if the situation ever arose.

And then there was Weller. It was true that he had been the one to leave her at the safe house immediately before she had been attacked. Technically, maybe she _should_ have blamed him for that. For what, exactly? For not going in and checking more thoroughly, maybe? But no, surely there were other agents who had done that before her arrival. That detail of hers, most likely… No, as logical as it might have been to someone else to assign the blame for that attack to Weller, that was the last thing she thought when she thought of him. If anything, quite the opposite. When she paused to ask herself the question, she realized that of the only six people she knew, Weller was the _only_ one she trusted at the moment – whether to keep her safe, or otherwise, really.

Finally exhaling slowly, she looked back up at Borden, her eyes boring into his for a few seconds before she spoke. His expression remained the same as it had the whole time. _Calm. Interested, but not insistent. Kind, and yet detached._ She supposed that his demeanor was a result of a great deal of training and practice. After all, this was his job.

"No," she said slowly. "I don't trust the FBI to keep me safe." He nodded in understanding, pausing before his next question. He was surprised then, when she continued speaking. "The FBI is a nameless, faceless organization to me. Why would I trust them? I don't know them, what they want from me… not _really_. And they haven't exactly done a fantastic job of keeping me safe so far." Borden nodded again, this time not assuming that she was finished speaking. Judging from her expression, there was more that she wanted to say.

"At this moment, I know six people – at least, whose names I actually know. And of those six people, I trust _one_ person to keep me safe." Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper, as if her words were an admission that she didn't want to voice aloud.

Borden was impressed that she was still talking. While she hadn't been difficult or sullen, exactly, she hadn't exactly been talkative either. He'd expected her to require more prompting before he got this much out of her. However, his question had seemed to jump start her thinking more successfully than he'd anticipated. Looking at her with raised eyebrows, he waited for her to tell him which of the agents to whom she was referring – though he was fairly sure he knew the answer.

"Weller," she said finally, looking him in the eye for a few seconds before her eyes darted down to the floor, continuing to move and then finally, after he was silent for a minute, watching her, looking back up at him. He simply nodded, waiting to see if there was anything else she wanted to add. However, she simply looked at him, almost defiantly, not saying anything else.

"That's good," Dr. Borden said finally, after a full minute of silence. "It's important to feel like you can trust someone. And in your place, I don't think most people would trust the FBI, or anyone else, either. We're all strangers to you, after all." He looked at her long and hard, as once again her eyes darted away from him, around the room, and then slowly, back to his face. "Just trust your instincts," he told her, looking at her sincerely. Then, after another long pause he added, "We're here to help you, Jane. All of us. However you feel about the FBI or about us individually is alright. None of this is easy."

She nodded, growing increasingly uncomfortable under Borden's scrutiny. _Trust my instincts?_ she wanted to scream. _What_ _ **other**_ _choice do I have? I have nothing_ _ **but**_ _my instincts. No memories to refer to, no one who can actually tell me who I am or what's going on…_ The more she thought about it, the more on edge she felt. Still, looking back at Dr. Borden, she felt like at least three of the six people she currently knew – Borden, Patterson and Weller – were at least sympathetic to her situation. The other three… well, time would tell, she supposed. Still, she'd had enough of being stared at by Borden for now.

As if sensing that Jane had had it just then, and feeling that sufficient progress had been made for the time being, Borden leaned back in his chair. "So, shall we say that we're done for now?" he asked her.

Relief flooded Jane at Borden's words. She wanted nothing in the world just then more than to be finished with this conversation and get back to work, back to the team, and to find out if they'd learned anything since the day before. She almost smiled at the man in front of her then, feeling her face relax and the frustration that had begun building the longer she sat there slowly begin to lessen. He stood up, and she followed his lead, following him out into the waiting area outside his office.

"Do you know that way from here?" he asked her kindly. His office wasn't far from her team's area, but she'd only been there for a very overwhelming few days so far.

"Yes, down there and around the corner," she replied with a nod toward the hallway.

"Alright then," he said kindly. "If you need anything… you know where I am."

"Okay… thanks," she told him awkwardly. He got the feeling that she wasn't ready to confide much of anything in him yet, but that was alright. Slow progress was to be expected in her case. He watched her until she was around the corner and out of view, headed towards Weller and his team, before returning to his office.

XXX

The first time Kurt saw Jane since he'd left her sleeping on the couch, he was standing in Mayfair's office, arguing with her about whether to tell Jane that she might be Taylor Shaw. Mayfair was skeptical of the results of the testing that Patterson was in the midst of running, and the eight hours that remained before those results would be ready seemed like an eternity to him. While he had to admit that logically, he understood why it would be wrong to tell her before the results were in, he was frustrated. No, he was beyond frustrated. He'd always trusted him instincts, and they were very rarely wrong. Jane _was_ Taylor Shaw. He _knew_ it, and he knew that the test would prove it. He was quickly losing his patience with Mayfair, who usually supported his gut instincts… but not this time.

When he looked over Mayfair's shoulder and saw Jane, standing in the bullpen and watching him, an ice pack clutched to her face, he suddenly forgot what they were talking about. When he stood and stared at her, without looking away, for a few seconds, Mayfair also turned to see what he was looking at, and saw Jane standing there looking in their direction before turning back to Kurt. She said something else to him, but he didn't hear her. They were finished, anyway. He had heard what she had said about keeping Jane's possible identity a secret, though he didn't like it one bit.

 _Don't tell Jane your theory_. Mayfair words echoed in his head, and as much as he knew he was right, that she _was_ Taylor, he also knew that he had been given a directive and would have to follow it. _The test results will prove me right_ , he thought, still frustrating but taking what little satisfaction he could get from this fact. Without another word he turned and pushed through the glass doors out of Mayfair's office, anxious to see how Jane was feeling.

Jane saw him walking toward her with a serious look on his face. While some people might have been intimidated by the approach of stern faced Kurt Weller, Jane felt the opposite. She was relieved to have found him, relieved that as she stood there watching him, he'd decided to come out of the office and talk to her. Besides being anxious to get an update on what was going on, she was also calmed just by his increasing proximity to her.

"Doctors clear you?" he asked, before he'd even reached her. He came to a stop with about two feet between them. He felt the urge to move closer, and yet, he didn't, reminding himself to maintain his professional distance.

"Yeah," she replied, and seeing the look of concern on his face as he looked at the ice pack she was holding up to her jaw, she held it away from her for a second, glancing at it and deciding it would be easier to talk to him without it against her face, at least for a moment. She let her right hand fall down by her side.

"My jaw is killing me," she told him, and then, not one to let what she had seen slide, "What were you and Mayfair talking about?" Whatever it had been, he hadn't looked happy.

"We were just wrapping up another case," he told her. He hated to lie to her, of course, but he obviously couldn't tell her the _truth_. Not yet, anyway, despite how much he wanted to. Then, attempting to change the subject, he added, "I'm sorry this happened to you, Jane." They turned and began walking away from the large screens at the end of the room, side by side.

"Which part? A lot has happened to me recently," she observed wryly. She didn't blame him, but she couldn't resist the chance to call attention to her situation.

"All of it," he replied without skipping a beat. It was the truth, after all. What this woman had been through was unthinkable. "We are going to move you to a more secure place." While he certainly wasn't glad that she had been attacked, he _was_ glad that there was an excuse to move her out of the safe house that he had felt wasn't up to par to start with. Obviously, it hadn't been, or that man wouldn't have been able to break in…

"Do we know who he was?" Jane asked quickly.

"No, he's the same as you. No prints, no DNA. No trace of him in the system."

She stopped walking, the weight of his words sinking in. They still didn't know anything. _Nothing_ about the man who had broken into her supposedly secure safe house and attacked her… but she _known_ him… before… and they had learned nothing from him, and now they never would. The realization was hitting her slowly, but hitting harder every second. Weller had stopped beside her, turning back around to face her when he'd realized that she was no longer walking beside him.

"No… I remember him. We used to know each other before all this. We trained together. I think he was my _friend_." She seemed unable to accept that they had learned _nothing_ about this man. There had to be _something…_

Weller looked at her for a few seconds as he processed this information, his eyes darting back and forth across her face. "Did he say anything to you?"

For a split second, she was back inside the grainy black image of her long haired, un-tattooed self, standing in the snowy woods with the man who had been killed in her safe house the night before, and then for another few seconds she saw him standing in front of her, _in_ the safe house, heard him telling her, "You can't trust them." _But_ _ **who**_ _couldn't she trust?_ More flashes that moved even more quickly, one of them of the same man, lying dead on the floor, and then something that looked like an x-ray held up against a light, but the flashes came too quickly for her to identify… and then suddenly, she saw Weller in front of her once more.

"You don't know _anything_ about him? How he got into the safe house or who shot him?" she asked, fighting to keep desperation out of her voice despite her frustration.

"No. We're working on it, Jane," he told her.

She stared at him for a few seconds, as if she was unwilling to hear this answer, before lowering her eyes as they darted quickly around, then back up to his.

"No, he didn't say anything. He didn't have time," she said in resignation. She didn't even know why she was lying to him, this man who had been so good to her so far. Even though she hated herself a little bit for doing it, she couldn't shake the sense of hesitation… _Who can't I trust?_ So far the only _they_ she knew was the FBI. But surely that wasn't what that man had meant… It as almost impossible to believe, when she looked into Weller's eyes, that she couldn't trust him. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to tell him what the man had told her.

They stared at each other intensely for a few seconds before Jane continued. "So we're nowhere closer to knowing who I am?" Weller, as much as he hated to lie to her, knew that he had no choice – he couldn't look at her for a second, feeling guilty, and his eyes wandered toward the ceiling off to his left, his face tensing in frustration stemming from both the fact that he couldn't yet tell her his theory, and the fact that they really _hadn't_ learned anything from the man in Jane's safe house. He managed to bring his eyes back to meet hers as he replied, "No."

She swallowed hard, helplessness once again suddenly threatening to crush her. _How was she going to go on like this? Everything that should give them leads was turning up nothing…_ She stared into his eyes, feeling once again like she was sinking, drowning…

"I'm sorry, Jane," he said quietly, wishing there was something else he could do for her. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes any longer and willing herself to hold it together.

 _I've broken down in front of him enough times already_ , she warned herself. _Not again. Not here, of all places._

They were staring at each other, Weller trying to decide whether he was going to be able to resist laying his hand on her arm, the only sort of comfort that he could think of that he could provide just then, or if that would be too much, when Reade suddenly walked up beside them.

"Hey, you're going to want to see this," he said simply, before turning to walk back down the hall toward Patterson's lab. Weller stared into Jane's eyes for another few seconds, seeing her anguish seem to spike, and wishing that he could have remained right where he was, giving her his full attention. Of course, that wasn't an option, so he slowly turned to follow Reade, who had already disappeared around the corner. After a few seconds' hesitation, Jane followed as well. After all, there may have been a break in the case.

When they reached the lab, the others were already inside. Weller had stopped outside the door, turning part way around and waited for her to catch up with him. Stopping a little closer to him than she had been when he'd been in front of her a minute before, she looked at him with pleading in her eyes, no longer caring how desperate she looked. The abyss loomed near and dark and she was once again on the edge of it, teetering ever closer to falling in. He was the only thing that could stop her from falling in, but she didn't know how to vocalize any of this, so all she could do was stare at him, looking terrified.

Looking at her carefully, he could see the face of someone who was trying desperately to hold on, but who was on the verge of losing the battle. He pushed his mouth into a tiny, sad smile, which was the best he could do, hating that there was no more concrete way that he could reassure her. When the muscles in her face seemed to relax slightly in reply, though her expression still remained heartbreakingly sad, he took it as both a sign that he was getting through to her, as well as, for some reason, a wordless articulation of her need for just a little more from him. He laid his right hand on her left arm, mid-way between her elbow and her shoulder, as he'd considering before Reade had intruded on their moment, squeezing gently, and watched as she seemed to breathe easier.

The feeling of warmth from the point on her arm where he held onto her seemed to radiate outward immediately through her entire body, and she felt her cheeks flush with color at once. She just hoped that it wasn't _too_ obvious…

"Come on," he whispered, "let's go in and see what's going on." She smiled slightly, feeling as though she'd mentally taken a step back from the edge of that abyss that still stared at her, trying to tempt her into leaning towards it. However, just then it was easier to feel like just maybe, she would make it, at least through today. Making it through one day at a time, was a pretty short term goal, and yet the hours that spread out between that moment and the end of the day seemed to stretch on until eternity, if she let herself think about them too hard…

Yes, she would just make it her goal to make it through this one day, and then take it from there. And as she glanced at Weller's hand on her arm, then back up into his eyes with a small nod, it seemed more than possible that she could make it. At least through this one day.

Even after he had removed his hand from her arm and turned toward the door, holding it open for her and waiting while she went through before he did the same, the warmth from his hand on her arm remained.

As they joined the group and listened to Patterson talk about a bank robbery, still the feeling continued to bolster her determination. Even without using words, he had reassured her once again that it would be alright. Mostly because she so badly wanted to believe it, she allowed herself to entertain the idea.

Maybe, just maybe, it would be.

 _A/N: After coming directly from the end of Beach Weekend, it's killing me to write these two with so much SPACE between them – emotionally and physically. But I'm trying to keep it true to episode 3, knowing now so much more of what lies ahead than I did the last time I posted a chapter of this story… Thank you all for reading!_


	30. More Than Just Okay

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around. I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

They stood in Patterson's lab, having gone over all of the information they had so far about the bank robbery. They didn't know everything, but it was a good start.

"Reade, Zapata," Weller barked in his usual all-business tone, "you two dig up everything you can about the bank robbers. Anything and everything you can find." The two agents nodded at him solemnly.

"Jane and I will go to the hospital to check on the suspect that the police brought in from the scene," he continued. Reade looked at Weller skeptically. He was still unhappy about Jane's constant presence with the team, especially out in the field. Weller glared back at him, knowing exactly what the other man wanted to say and daring him to do so. Having the good sense to pay attention to his boss' demeanor just then, Reade just shook his head and looked away.

 _What the hell is going on around here?_ Reade thought to himself. _Weller has never displayed such a lack of judgement before. Not ever. What is it about this Jane Doe that has him so worked up?_

Watching Reade for a minute to be sure there wasn't going to be a problem, Weller was satisfied that his agent wasn't going to protest and turned to Jane. Her face was a mixture of, as far as he could tell, surprise, apprehension, curiosity, frustration and, if he wasn't mistaken… was it _happiness?_ Despite the other things he swore he could read in her eyes, a small smile had appeared on her lips. He didn't quite understand why, but he reasoned that it was better than the heartbroken look she'd had on her face not too long before.

Jane had been prepared to hear Weller tell her to stay behind, or to at least that she would have to request that she be allowed to go into the field with him. It was a surprise, therefore, when she heard him say that the two of them would be going to the hospital, as if it was expected that she would go along. As if it wasn't a big deal. Maybe to him it wasn't, but to Jane it was a _very_ big deal. The simple fact that Weller had decided that it was in their best interest to have her there meant a lot to her, both because she wanted to help them, and because she needed answers.

If she was being honest, of course, there was one other reason, however secondary, that she was glad to be going with Weller… and that was simply because she was glad to be going with Weller. It was like she'd told Dr. Borden – when she was around him, she did feel safe. His presence quieted the things inside her – the voices, the noises, the emptiness – that she fought so hard not to hear.

Looking back up at Weller, she knew that he probably knew what she was feeling just then. Well, maybe not that last part… at least she hoped not. But she'd already noticed that he seemed to have a talent for reading her, and she had decided that it must be a part of the job. After all, if you didn't have good instincts about people, you wouldn't make a very good FBI Agent. Still, she wondered if it was more than that. After all, she certainly didn't get the feeling that Reade and Zapata, or any of the other agents that she'd met in these past few days, could read her the same way that Weller did. No, there was something different there, something unique in the way he looked at her, the way he understood. And he definitely had a different effect on her than any of the others.

She couldn't help but smile up at him, despite the stern look on his face, and if she didn't know better, she'd have sworn that the corners of his lips twitched just the slightest bit upwards in response. _No,_ she thought, _I'm probably just imagining that._

"Let's go," Weller said, nodding first at the others, then at Jane, and starting toward the door. Jane glanced uncomfortably at the rest of the team before following Weller, expecting looks of hostility over yet another announcement that she would be going out into the field. However, what she saw – at least some of it – surprised her. Patterson smiled at her and nodded encouragingly. Zapata held eye contact with her for a second and then looked away, but the look on her face was neutral. Reade, however, was the one of the team who _didn't_ surprise her. The scowl on his face as he stared stubbornly at the screens that displayed the suspect's tattoo and Jane's side by side, refusing to even look at her, said more than enough.

Weller was stopped at the doorway of the lab and looking at her expectantly when she looked away from Reade, feeling a chill roll through after seeing his face. She wasn't sure why he seemed to dislike her so strongly, and had no idea what, if anything, she could do about it. However, she all but forgot Reade's expression when she looked back at Weller. There was impatience on his face as he waited for her, clearly in the mood to get going, but there was also kindness, as there always seemed to be when he looked at her. Even where there were other emotions there, she always saw kindness in his face when he looked at her. It was like the opposite of Reade, whose face always seemed to display hostility towards her.

Walking quickly toward the door, she followed him out into the hall and fell into step beside him. They walked silently to the elevator, stepping inside without being joined by anyone else. Weller leaned forward to push the button for the parking garage, and then took a step back so that they were once again side by side. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, but kept her attention on the display that showed which floor they were currently on. While he didn't turn his head toward her, she got the feeling that he was observing her the same way she was observing him.

Like he did every time he was around her, he felt drawn to watch her. However, elevator etiquette, though unwritten, seemed to dictate that unless you were engaged in conversation with someone, you kept your eyes on the numerical display. Where this idea had come from, he had no idea, and yet it just seemed to be how everyone behaved in elevators. Maybe it was because really, there was nothing else to look at most of the time, and it was awkward to simply stand and stare at another person. However the whole thing had come to be, he felt agitated by the fact that she was right beside him and yet he felt compelled to only look at her out of the corner of his eyes.

When the _ding_ sounded that signaled that they had reached their floor, both of them exhaled slightly in relief. Their ride hadn't been tense, per se, but it had been awkward as they had stood beside each other staring straight ahead. Jane had noticed that this seemed to be how people rode elevators every time, and so far it made her extremely uncomfortable.

She followed him to the black SUV, heading towards the vehicle from which the chirp sounded, signaling that he had unlocked the doors. Before she had a chance to do so herself, he had opened the door for her, and she glanced at him with surprise as she moved past him to climb into the car.

"Thanks," she mumbled, feeling uncomfortable but not really understanding why. She gave him a small smile to attempt to dispel the awkwardness she felt between them just then, and she saw the muscles in his face relax slightly then, so that he _almost_ smiled back at her. Or maybe that _was_ a smile for him. She was still getting used to his expressions.

He nodded at her and closed the door, rounding the car and getting into the driver's seat. After securing his own seatbelt, he turned the key in the ignition, glancing at her once again - _to be sure that she had her seatbelt on, of course_ , he reasoned – and then backed the car out of the parking spot. He followed the signs that would lead them out of the garage, still without a word.

Jane had started to wonder if perhaps she had done something wrong, because she didn't understand why Weller didn't seem to be speaking to her. At the same time, he'd brought her along voluntarily… She wondered if maybe he was simply still processing the case. Either way, the silence between them, which was usually comfortable, felt tense.

It was only once they were outside and headed in the direction of the hospital that he broke the increasingly awkward silence between them. "Are you… okay?" he asked her, glancing in her direction for a few seconds before turning his eyes back to the road. He couldn't help but feel like it was his fault that she'd been attacked, that if only he'd checked the safe house thoroughly himself… She no longer had the ice pack against her jaw, which he took to mean that she was at least feeling somewhat better.

In the few seconds that he looked at her, she once again saw concern, and she felt herself relax slightly. Whatever his silence had meant, she got the feeling that it hadn't been directed at her, but that she had merely been a witness to it. Weller didn't seem to be the type to make idle chitchat with anyone, after all.

With a sigh, she considered his question. _Am I okay?_ she asked herself, still not really sure what it felt like to be okay. _Well, I'm not in agonizing pain… I'm not on the verge of a breakdown – at least, not at this moment_ , she thought, and supposed that relatively speaking, that was what counted as okay for her. Not only that, but she was sitting beside Weller, being taken into the field without even having to ask to be included. _Yes,_ she told herself, _this counts as okay._

Looking back at him, her mouth slowly curled into a smile, and she nodded. "Yeah, I _think_ so," she replied. "At the moment," she added quickly. _That could change at any time, of course_ , she added in her head. She'd seen how quickly her thoughts could overwhelm her, but she tried her hardest not to dwell on that. In this moment, she didn't feel like she was falling into the abyss of darkness that never seemed to let her get _too_ far away from it, and perhaps that was all she could ask for.

Suddenly the look on his face changed, and he looked genuinely concerned. Glancing at her quickly once again, he asked, "Did you, uh, get something to eat this morning?" It had just occurred to him that he hadn't eaten anything himself, nor had he gotten anything for her. Realizing only then that she didn't have any money, nor had she probably been shown where the shared FBI kitchen area was, it seemed unlikely that she had. Or, knowing what little he knew about her, he knew that she probably hadn't said anything to anyone about it. He wanted to kick himself for his lack of consideration. "Sorry, I forgot to think about that earlier. The case has me all—"

"Weller, it's fine," she said, holding up a hand and cutting off his hurried apology. "Borden brought me a bagel and coffee. Did I tell you that I learned that I like coffee the other day?" She was smiling proudly at him, but the feeling lasted only a split second before she heard a familiar voice in her head. The one that seemed to feed her a steady stream of doubts.

 _You're proud of yourself for knowing that you like coffee?_ the voice boomed incredulously. _You know that that's a pretty ridiculous thing to be proud of, right?_

While she had felt happy to be able to know this small fact about herself, suddenly she felt herself yanked forward, once again uncomfortably close to that abyss of her thoughts that she'd been working so hard to step back from.

He smiled with relief when she said that Borden had brought her some breakfast, and even chuckled slightly when she proudly declared that she had discovered that she liked coffee. However, when he looked at her again a few seconds later, it was clear that something else had happened in her head, something that now had her frowning unhappily.

"Jane?" he said with concern, trying to redirect her attention away from wherever it had just gone, and bring her back to the present.

She heard him say her name, and it echoed in her head for a few seconds before she became aware that it was Weller, calling her back to reality. It would be a lie if she said that she didn't like hearing him say her name. She struggled to tune out the voice in her head, and to tune out the sensation that she now recognized as the one that pulled her into her spiraling thoughts, and like the previous times, into despair.

 _No,_ she thought, _I'm okay. Besides, Weller is here._ She heard the tone with which he said her name, and tried to hang onto the word tightly, the way she would a life preserver in churning water. It seemed that the current of her mind, however, had other ideas.

 _That's not even your name_. It was the same voice who'd pointed out that knowing that she liked coffee was nothing to be proud of, and it spoke to her curtly, the words cutting through her. _You don't even_ _ **know**_ _your name._

She swallowed hard, trying to think of something to distract her from listening to the voice in her head. Suddenly it was as though her life preserver had disappeared and she was pulled under into her thoughts once again.

He was getting more and more concerned about her, because he was not having any luck getting her attention. Of course, they needed to get to the hospital and check in on the suspect who had been caught at the scene of the robbery, but he decided that they had at least a minute or two to spare. Something was wrong with Jane, and he needed to figure out what it was. Turning off of the main road onto a side street, he pulled the car to a stop along the curb and shifted into Park. Now he could give her his full attention.

Turning sideways in his seat to face her, he looked at her intently. "Jane," he said again. There was more urgency in his voice now, which was only made worse by the fact that she didn't reply. She seemed so distracted, he wasn't even sure that she'd heard him.

After a long few seconds, during which she battled her thoughts, she finally realized that he was talking to her. Looking over her shoulder at him, she noticed only then that the car was no longer moving. Glancing out the window in confusion, then back at him, her eyes only now slowly focused on his. "Are you okay?" he asked hopefully, now that he finally had her attention.

He was surprised when she leaned forward in her chair, which required an extra effort because her seatbelt was still across her chest. She looked back down at her hands, clasped in her lap and fidgeting against her knees, which bounced up and down nervously. She wanted to say that she was fine, had every intention of saying so… but she couldn't force the words to come out. Taking a deep breath, she looked back up, first staring out through the windshield and then finally, turning toward his once again.

He wanted to tell her to relax, but somehow he didn't think that that would be helpful just then. It obviously wasn't nearly that easy. She wasn't going to relax just because someone told her to, after all. Since he couldn't think of any words that would help, his mind immediately went to how else he could comfort her. And because this was Jane, his immediate urge was to reach out for her. After a few seconds' hesitation, he leaned forward, laying his right hand on her left shoulder gently, moving his hand back and forth slightly in the space between her shoulder and her neck.

For a second she tensed when his hand landed near her shoulder, but it only lasted a second before she felt the tension flow out of her as if it had been released through a faucet. She smiled slowly, sighing in relief. As strange as it seemed, she didn't understand her own reaction to his touch, only knew that it helped when nothing else did. As she turned toward him in her seat, his arm moved back to her shoulder and then, as she turned and her shoulder pressed against the seat, his hand fell back down slowly to the console between them. She lifted her left leg up, folding it onto the seat and against the console, in front of her, her hands joining and resting on that leg. She felt more relaxed now, but couldn't bring herself to look at him, simply stared at her hands.

Without thinking, he reached out to her again, wrapping his right hand around both of hers and squeezing gently. Her gaze hadn't shifted, and now she was looking down at their joined hands where hers had sat alone a few seconds before. She couldn't help smiling just a little as she felt him holding onto her, keeping her in the present moment with him. It was as if he'd known that that was what she'd needed to bring her back from inside her head.

Finally, her eyes came back up to meet his. He'd been watching her carefully, wondering what to say, what else to do, if anything. But he wasn't good at this sort of thing, and he'd been at a loss. So instead he'd just held onto her, somehow sensing that it would help. He knew that they needed to get to the hospital, but he allowed himself a few more seconds simply to breathe, to look into her eyes and to say whatever it was that he suddenly felt like he was saying without actually saying a word. Her eyes replied the same way, and he couldn't help but feel like something important had been said.

She watched him intently, watching her. _How did he know?_

With a sigh he turned to look out at the street again, pressing his foot down on the brake pedal, and then, not wanting to let go of her hands, he reached over with his left hand and attempted to shift the car into Drive. What followed was something of a comedy routine.

She had watched him struggle with the stick shift and couldn't help but think that she should let him take his hand back so that he could use it. Then again, _she_ wasn't holding onto _his_ hands. It was the other way around, which meant that she also wasn't stopping him from letting go. Besides, she couldn't say that she _wanted_ him to let go, only that she felt guilty that he was having so much trouble with an action that should have been simple, just because of her.

"You should probably just…" she had told him, attempting to lift her hands and disentangle her fingers from his, because it just seemed like the logical thing to do. But she was surprised when he shook his head, squeezing just a little tighter and keeping his hand right where it was.

It took four awkward tries, but with some trouble he was able to shift into Drive, laughing at himself quietly over how clumsy he felt. He knew how silly it was to try to use his left hand instead of just dropping her hands and using his right. He could have easily done just that, and maybe even taken her hands in his again afterwards, if she hadn't moved too far away by then. But something inside him refused to let go, no matter how difficult it made things.

He couldn't know, of course, that that small action would become symbolic of his feelings for her. No matter how much inconvenience it caused him, he simply didn't want to let go of her, literally or figuratively. This feeling confused even him.

Why did he feel so increasingly desperate to help her? He couldn't say. Of course, he prided himself on being a nice guy, a dedicated agent, a person who did the right thing. He knew that she had no one else, only himself and his team, and that the rest of them hadn't exactly welcomed her with open arms. _If I don't help her,_ he thought, _who will?_ It wasn't just that, of course. No, he just knew that she was Taylor Shaw. What other reason could there be for the connection that he felt between them? How else would she have a scar in exactly the same place as Taylor?

As she tried to suggest that he should just let go of her hands, she had been surprised to suddenly realize just how muchshe didn't _want_ him to let go. But why did she feel this so strongly? The warmth from his hand on hers, along with the hope that he wouldn't let go, made her forget about the voice in her head and the thoughts that had overwhelmed her only a few minutes before. The understanding that flowed from his fingers into hers kept her there in the present time, watching him in fascination.

 _Well, that could be why_ , she told herself. _It's just… easier to breathe._

He finally found the right angle at which to hold the stick shift in his left hand so that he could press the button at the end as well, allowing him to shift the car into Drive. It _really shouldn't have been this hard_ , he told himself. This had seemed to be simply a futile effort only a few seconds ago, but now he was grinning at his success.

"See? No problem," he assured her. It was then that she stopped trying to wiggle her hands free, letting them fall back against her leg. She looked down at them again, still wrapped up in his hand, smiling as she felt herself blush slightly. Why was such a small thing having such an effect on her?

 _Breathe_ , she ordered herself, but for once it was not because she was panicking. On the contrary, this time she had to remind herself to breathe because of the sudden surge of emotion that she felt over the small gesture of affection that he had just displayed. It was silly, she knew, but the thing about having no memories was that every time anyone did anything kind for her, it might as well have been the first time. The smallest acts of kindness toward her were magnified in her mind. As far as she was concerned, if she hadn't experienced them in the past four days or so, it _was_ the first time. It meant that she took nothing for granted, and that she appreciated all of it that much more.

She knew that she was now openly staring at him, but she couldn't help herself.

He glanced back over at her as they drove. Traffic was light, so he could afford the odd quick look at her. Each time he looked at her, she was watching him with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty, but also with a small but genuine smile that lit up her face, making him smile back at her. All he could think was that if holding onto her hands, which he was still doing, made her smile like that, then it was worth it. Besides, he didn't hate it, either, he had to admit.

He couldn't exactly get away with doing it all the time, of course, nor would that be appropriate. The Kurt Weller who knew and followed the rules of protocol to the letter because it was the right thing to do knew this all too well. However, he was simultaneously the Kurt Weller who would do anything to help Jane, and this was the part of him was winning out at that moment. He'd already noticed that that version of himself was winning out more and more.

"You okay?" he asked her once again, even though he knew the answer with almost complete certainty.

"Yeah," she whispered, looking back down at his hand wrapped around hers once more. She nodded, leaning her cheek against the seat and smiled a little wider, slightly embarrassed. She imagined that it was probably more than a little bit obvious that she liked that he was holding onto her hands, and she didn't know if that was something that he was even allowed to do. She got the feeling that this was not exactly normal protocol for dealing with upset assets, and she knew that it didn't mean anything. Not really. However, she also knew, at that moment, that she finally knew what _okay_ felt like. She'd felt it a few times in the past day or so, actually, she now realized, and she could attribute each of them to a time she had been with Weller.

Just like she was now. But no, what she was feeling now was not just okay. This was more than just okay. She wasn't even sure what it was called.

The rest of the ride to the hospital was a blur, though according to the clock it took another ten minutes. When he stopped the car she looked up in surprise. Weller's apologetic expression as he turned towards her and looked into her eyes told her that while he didn't want to, he was about to let go of her hands. She smiled at him, letting him know that it was okay, _she_ was okay. When his hand left hers she looked away, already missing the warmth, then turned forward in her seat.

As he turned off the engine, the rest of it all came back to her. The doubts, the confusion, the frustration… _I can do this_ , she thought with renewed determination as she pushed the door open, exhaling heavily and closing the door behind her. Seconds later, Weller was standing in front of her and looking at her expectantly, obviously trying to read her state of mind.

He stood and looked at her for those few seconds when he came around the side of the car. He didn't need longer than that to guess at how she was doing, however, after so many years of practice at reading people. He was quickly learning how to read Jane's specific tells, too. As far as he could tell, she looked… Better than she had a few minutes before. Whatever had gotten into her head on the drive over, it was gone for the time being. It was as if the spark had returned, the one he'd slowly been seeing more and more of over the past few days.

Yes, there were times like the one he'd just witnessed when she looked like she was about to break down. There were _lots_ of those times, actually, and he had a feeling that there would be many more. But there were others that showed the determined side of her. The side of her that had _demanded_ to speak to someone in charge because she couldn't take any more when the polygrapher had failed to understand that the answer to each and every one of his questions would be, "I don't know" on that first day. He'd watched her on the monitor in the adjoining room and he remembered that fire in her eyes. He saw a small spark of it again now, along with the hint of a smile. The smile told him that he had done the right thing by reaching out to her. The spark told him that she wasn't done fighting. They were mixed with frustration and anxiety, of course, but both were there. He was relieved to see the spark again.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded and strode forward beside him toward the hospital entrance, trying to look more confident than she suddenly felt. There was so much riding on his one lead…

 _Don't get stuck in your head again_ , she told herself. _There's no time for that._ Weller had promised that it would work out, though she was still afraid to believe it. After all, good intentions didn't mean he could work miracles.

Still, there was no other choice to move forward. After all, it was time to get back to work.


	31. Trying To Help

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

Weller's words had stung. She'd been angry at first, and she'd spent the first half of the ride from the mini mall in Queens to the FBI building fuming, so angry that she couldn't think straight.

 _How dare he?_ she wondered. _How dare he talk to me that way? How dare he treat me as though the best I can do to help them is to sit in the car?_

Eventually, as she slowly calmed down, she heard his words echo in her head, and began to consider the reason behind them.

" _Do you think I told you to stay in that car as punishment?"_ he'd demanded _._

 _Yes, actually, that's exactly how it felt_ , she thought. She couldn't have said _what_ she was being punished for, of course, but it certainly had felt like a slap in the face. After all, she'd saved his life once already – and she'd done it _after being shot_ herself. It wasn't as though she needed protecting, and she'd thought that he knew that. She was far from helpless. Hadn't she'd proven how useful she could be to the team more than once by now? All she wanted to do was _help_ , and he'd told her to stay in the car like a child. She had _thought_ that they were past that.

At the time, she'd thought he was angry at her for disobeying. But the more she replayed his words in her head, the more she wondered. _"What would've happened to you today if you got hurt, if I lost you?"_ She thought back to the look on his face when he'd uttered those words, and for a second she swore she saw something else behind his eyes. Maybe it _wasn't_ just that he was angry, after all…

" _The three of us have worked together for years. We've got a rhythm of how we do things. You stepping out of line, you disrupt that rhythm. So you want me to trust you? Start listening to what I say. Earn it."_

Of course, it was hard for her to conceive of doing something for years. Her memory currently consisted of four days. Conceptually, she understood the idea of years, but that wasn't the same as have experienced it. To have worked together for _years_ … what must that be like? To have known someone that long? To have a _rhythm_ with other people that could be disrupted by an outside force, an intruder…

 _It's just one more thing that I don't have,_ she thought sadly.

She knew that what she was asking of him was a lot – unreasonable, even. She was a stranger to them, and yet she wanted to be one of them, at least to the point that she could help solve the mystery of her identity. She wanted a gun and a radio, something that the others had because they were _trained FBI agents._ Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that it was unreasonable of her to expect that she be given these things, and yet, that didn't stop her from protesting when she didn't get them. Again, she understood in _theory_ why she couldn't have them, but the reality – that she _wasn't_ one of them, that she really _shouldn't_ expect to be treated like one of them – was difficult to swallow, at best. Weller's brusque way of reminding her of this certainly didn't help, either.

There were too many things that were out of her control. Really, since she'd awoken in Times Square, there were very few things that were actually _within_ her control. It was exhausting, the not knowing, and it affected her at every turn. To say that her life was frustrating would be to say that Mt. Everest was a little bit bigger than a hill – a major understatement.

She sat beside him in the car, fuming, but felt herself gradually losing steam. She'd been frustrated, yes, but as her mind slowly cleared, she could think again. Despite how it annoyed her to do so, she started to imagine the situation from his point of view, and to admit that in his place, she would probably been pissed off with herself too, just as he had clearly been.

Of course, she had no way to know about his painful history, about the little girl that he blamed himself for losing twenty-five years before. And not just any little girl, but his best friend. To this day, it made the chance of losing someone whose protection he was charged with agonizing for him. To make it worse, if she really _was_ Taylor, as he was so certain that she was… No, the thought of losing her twice in one lifetime had simply been too much. He could now admit to himself that he may have overreacted, but he sure wasn't ready to admit that to anyone else.

Seeing how valuable she had been to the team to have in the field over the past few days, he was beginning to recognize the necessity of having her there with them, but he hadn't figured out how to balance letting her be useful with being able to protect her. After all, he'd taken her to Ellis Island when they'd been chasing Chao, and even when she was by his side as he'd demanded of her, she'd been shot almost immediately.

In his mind it was simple – if she hadn't been there, she would have been safe. The fact that it hadn't been a serious gunshot wound didn't negate the danger, because it just as easily _could_ have been a serious gunshot wound. When he thought about it too hard, the idea that something serious could have happened to her because he'd let her come along made it hard for him to breathe.

Now back in the car, he felt anger boil inside him more intense than he could remember feeling in a long, long time. _Why can't she understand?_ his mind had screamed. _We certainly can't solve this case without her. She's too important. And yet she's untrained, untested… She may not be helpless, but she doesn't know the protocols. Just because she has these amazing skills doesn't mean that she can't get herself or someone else hurt when she doesn't listen._

It was his protective instinct again, getting the best of him. He took the weight of the world on his shoulders, wanting to protect everyone from all of the evil everywhere. He'd always been that way, ever since Taylor had disappeared, and he was mercilessly hard on himself each time he inevitably failed to bear such an impossible burden.

But this time was even worse, because at least in his mind, this _was_ Taylor. He'd already failed her once, and he'd be damned if he was going to let it happen again. That's why his head and his heart were at war with each other. He _knew_ that she was no longer a helpless five year old, and yet at the same time, he'd lost her the first time because he hadn't watched her closely enough, protected her the way he should have. The problem, of course, was that Jane didn't need or want protection, and she'd made that clear. It seemed that the harder he worked to protect her, the more she fought his help.

So far he hadn't been able to make her understand, which made her into an unknown variable. He'd worked hard for his whole career to limit unknown variables to an absolute minimum, and his team were so used to working together by now, they could all predict each other's behaviors in almost any situation. But with Jane there… their rhythm was off. They had no idea what she would do next.

 _You can make excuses all you want,_ his mind told him. _She's not five years old. You can't keep her from danger._

 _I_ _ **have to**_ _protect her,_ he replied defiantly. _There's_ _no way I'm letting anything happen to her again._

They'd been taking turns glaring at each other out of the corners of their eyes the whole way back. From the back seat, Zapata and Reade had had a surprisingly good view of the showdown between Weller and Jane. The tension in the car was palpable, and Zapata couldn't help but wish that the team had taken two cars so they didn't have to be trapped here, watching the showdown. Stuck in an enclosed space with an angry Kurt Weller wasn't a place that she enjoyed being.

Zapata didn't disagree with Weller that Jane should have stayed with the car, but at the same time, she'd been surprised at the force of his reaction. He seemed disproportionately angry, and she wasn't sure why. For one thing, it wasn't like him to lose his temper. It probably had something to do with that old case that he never wanted to talk about, she assumed.

Jane could feel Weller glaring at her as they neared their destination. She was beginning to cool down, but her frustration level was still high. Of course, it was the first time she'd fought with anyone as far as she could remember, the first time she'd felt berated that way, so she didn't know how to handle it. Her emotions swung like a pendulum; her anger with Kurt had morphed into anger with herself, and was now swinging wildly back and forth between the two. She couldn't even identify how she felt from one minute to the next. Because of this, it seemed safer to say nothing.

The fact that Jane seemed to have decided to remain silent suited Kurt just fine. He was still angry with her, but of course it wasn't that simple. If it had been solely anger that he'd felt, he could have handled it far better.

Back inside the FBI garage, Weller eased the SUV into a parking spot and shifted into Park. Zapata and Reade almost bolted from the car, eager to free themselves from the tension between their boss and Jane. Clearly, those two needed a minute.

Weller stopped the engine and held the keys in his hand, the metal ring dangling from one finger as he watched in surprise at the speed with which the other members of his team exited the car. Still, he didn't move to open his door. He clenched the steering wheel in front of him, taking deep breaths. This wasn't like him and he knew it, and he needed to get himself under control. Getting emotional like this over cases was _not_ something that he did – over the years he had trained himself not to get worked up like this over _anything_. After so much practice at swallowing his feelings of guilt and anger over Taylor, he'd taught himself to channel the rest of it into his work, which was why everyone saw him as so serious… serious but _controlled._ Just then, however, he felt anything but in control of himself.

This waiting to see what he was going to say or do was only increasing her anxiety level. She regretted that the suspect had gotten away, of course, but she still felt completely justified in the way she'd behaved at the mini-mall. If she'd been at the car, she never would have seen him. Why didn't Weller understand that? How could he possibly expect her to be of any use to the team if all she could do was stay by the car? Her right knee bounced quickly in frustration as she stared out the front windshield, her face cloudy.

"I'm not helpless," she said in a small but defiant voice.

"I never said you were," Weller replied through gritted teeth. "But you're also not an FBI agent. We don't just go handing out guns and radios to civilians. Hell, we don't just go around taking them out in the field with us, either. And there's a reason for that. More than one, actually."

"Are you saying you're not going to take me out in the field again?" she asked, staring out the front windshield. "Since it's _against the rules_?" Her tone was slightly mocking, and the words had come out more antagonistic than she'd meant them too. Glancing over at him quickly to see if she had just done more damage, she was unable to read his stony face.

He sighed heavily, ignoring the question for the moment. He wished it was that simple.

"You completely ignored a direct order," he reminded her accusingly. He was unaccustomed to people defying him.

"An order that didn't make sense," she protested. "I couldn't see _anything_ from the parking lot."

"That wasn't your call to make," he barked quickly, still not looking at her. He could feel his anxiety level rising again the more she spoke. She _really_ didn't understand. "There are _rules_ for a reason. One of the rules around here is that _I_ 'm the lead agent, which means you're supposed to listen to me."

She scoffed loudly enough that it was clear that she wasn't trying to hide her annoyance with him. _Who does this guy think he is?_ she wondered.

"If that's a problem, then you _don't_ have to come out in the field with us," he told her.

"You _need me_ in the field," she replied quickly. "I've already proven that."

"What I need," he began, fighting the urge to snap at her and trying his best to speak slowly and control his temper, "is for you to work _with_ us, and not try to go off on your own. I need you to remember that you don't have FBI training. We do things the way we do them for a reason. If you want to work with my team, if you want me to trust you, then _I_ need to be able to trust that you're not going to endanger yourself or anyone else. That you're not going to put us into a situation that compromises our ability to do _our jobs_."

It all sounded good in theory, except that what he was telling her was that she needed to do what he said, even if she didn't like it. That was what bothered her. He wasn't listening to her, not really.

 _But you're not listening to him, either,_ a voice in her head whispered. _Not really…_ She tried her best not to hear that voice.

"If I had a radio, and a gun—" she started, but he cut her off immediately.

"Like I said, those aren't things we just hand out because you ask nicely." He glared at her, thinking _Or not so nicely, in your case_. "You're _not_ an FBI agent, no matter how much you want to act like one," he added. "We get those things after intensive _training_."

She recoiled slightly, feeling as if she'd been slapped. She _knew_ those things, of course, but it was different to be _told_ them, especially the way he'd said them. He'd been very understanding with her up until today, so this new side of his personality was difficult to understand, and even harder to take.

"Fine," she spat back at him, trying to make her voice as flat and even as possible. She knew that she was letting her emotions get the best of her, but she was hurt, but she didn't know how to express it. It was the first time she'd felt this way, after all… the first time for _everything_. The thought just made her sigh, and suddenly her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat.

He watched her demeanor suddenly change, and he sighed heavily in frustration at both himself and at her. This wasn't going the way he wanted it to, but he couldn't think of a better way to deal with her just then. They both needed to cool off, and he needed to think of a way to get her to understand. Of course, she seemed to be just as stubborn as he was, so it was _not_ going to be easy.

"Jane," he said, his voice now softer as her body language told him that the fight was finally beginning to drain out of her. He hoped that that would mean that she would _listen_ to him instead of just arguing. "You know that I'm trying to help you, right?"

In theory, yes, she knew that. It was just that… the way he had treated her hadn't _felt_ like help. Besides, she was just trying to help _them_ , and being told to go against every instinct she had was more than a little hard to swallow. After all, without memories, instincts were all she had.

Sighing loudly, she turned to face him, raising her eyes slowly to meet his. She was surprised to see that the anger that had been in his eyes a little while ago had been replaced by something else. He seemed calmer… _concerned_. It was the same look that she'd seen there many times over the past few days, and now she was embarrassed by the way she'd acted. Somehow, she managed not to look away.

Her expression no longer reflected frustration, he noticed as they watched each other carefully. Instead, the look on her face was now one that matched better with the frightened woman who'd been found naked in Times Square with her memory erased than the no nonsense one who had more or less demanded to be treated like an FBI agent. Yes, they were one and the same person, he reminded himself, and he found that he felt guilty for his angry reaction to her. He shouldn't have yelled at her like that, and he knew it. It certainly wasn't like him.

"I could ask you the same question," she told him quietly.

The corners of his mouth almost tilted up at her logic, and he realized that it was true. They were very similar, and maybe that was part of what frustrated him so much about her.

She reminded herself that for Weller, that tiny movement counted as a smile, and that as far as she could tell, he didn't give them out easily. On the contrary, even his team rarely seemed to earn them. The thought made her feel just a little better.

"I suppose you could," he admitted, now calm once again. They sat in silence for a minute, both looking away and considering the radical idea that they were going about the same goal, despite the fact that it had felt as though they were working against each other.

"I didn't meant to blow up at you," he said, turning to look at her. "I'm sorry."

Nodding slowly, she glanced at him, saw his eyes on her and then looked away again. She supposed that she should apologize as well… as hard as it was for her to admit that maybe she'd been wrong. _How can I be wrong?_ she asked herself. _It had all made so much sense at the time._

"I…" she started, fumbling for the words. "I'm sorry" wouldn't quite come out, so she struggled to find something that would. Her thoughts were jumbled, and she exhaled loudly in frustration.

"I meant what I said though," he said before she could think of anything to say. She tensed slightly, wondering which part of the words that had made her so angry the first time he was about to repeat. "I mean, I meant _all_ of it, but… I really did tell you to stay in the car for your safety. You've already been shot once because I took you out in the field, because I couldn't protect you even when you were right next to me. If you had gotten hurt – again – or if something had…" His voice trailed off, his head shaking back and forth against the very thought.

He was looking down at the steering wheel now, unable to meet her eyes. She didn't – couldn't – understand why the subject was so sensitive to him, and he knew that. She didn't know that she might be Taylor, or how much that would mean to him, and he was biting his tongue to keep from telling her. At the same time, he felt like he owed her _some_ kind of explanation. Shrugging, he added, "I'm trying to balance keeping you safe with finding the best way for you to help us."

"Okay," she replied simply, and when he looked back at her, he found her watching him.

None of this made things less frustrating for her, of course, but at least she understood him better, instead of just feeling like he was being a jerk. This new information matched better with her previous impression of him, which had been that he was a very good person, if maybe a bit intense.

"Ready to head back in?" he asked. It was only then that she realized that Reade and Zapata had long since fled the back seat. "We've still got a lot of work to do."

"Yep," she replied quickly, nodding and reaching for the door handle. He paused to watch her for a few seconds as she climbed out of the car, suddenly filled with wonder.

 _Taylor_ … He'd been working hard not to get himself excited over the prospect of having found her ever since the idea that she could be her had occurred to him, but it was getting harder and harder. If she _was_ Taylor…

 _Don't get distracted_ , he told himself quickly as he pushed the car door open and climbed out. _Whether she's Taylor or not, you have a_ _ **lot**_ _of work to do. The answer to that one question will just lead to many more._

With that he jogged around the car to catch up with her, locked the doors, and they walked back into the building side by side… just the way they both liked it.


	32. That's An Order

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

Jane had thought that they'd reached an understanding after their talk in the car, and then Weller and the team had had gone to interview Isabella Dechirico, a friend of one of the suspect's cousins who'd apparently cased the jewelry store before the robbery, without her. He'd simply walked out with Reade and Zapata, telling her, "You're staying here." When she had asked him why, he had replied simply, "Because we got it." He hadn't even bothered to stop, simply called back to her over his shoulder.

It was clear to Jane that Patterson was trying to be sympathetic, offering the analogy of the tangram and the need for the team to "find their new shape," but it hadn't helped much. She'd thanked the other woman with a sad smile, feeling even worse than she had when she'd entered the lab, and wandered out again.

 _What am I supposed to_ _ **do**_ _?_ she wondered, feeling almost desperate to do _something_. And yet, it seemed that at that moment there was nothing for her _to_ do except wait.

Not long after that, Jane found herself standing in an empty conference room, staring absently out a window that overlooked the street at the people bustling down the sidewalk. They almost looked like ants from where she was, so high above, all hurrying along to go _somewhere_ , to do _something_. They each had a purpose, a destination, people who cared about them… a life.

 _And then there's me_ , she thought, _stuck in limbo, standing still while everything and everyone whirls around me_. It was an unsettling feeling, as if she was caught in the eye of a storm.

Without warning, she heard Weller's words echo in her head. _"Some days this place is the eye of the storm for me. The only quiet place in the midst of chaos on all sides."_

He'd compared the restaurant he'd taken her to, _Mama's_ , to the eye of the storm. It came back to her and she sighed in frustration. When _he'd_ said them, the words had made the quiet sound peaceful, as if it was a _good_ thing. In her head, on the other hand, the quiet that surrounded her seemed to scream louder than any crowd could. On the contrary, she _almost_ longed for noise just then… chaos, the bustling of a crowd… _anything_.

She sighed in frustration, closing her eyes for a second and trying to convince herself that it would work out. _You have no proof of that whatsoever_ , she told herself that in annoyance.

 _And you have no proof that it_ _ **won't**_ _,_ the voice in her head countered.

Looking back down at the street and the tiny ant-sized people, she felt the urge to just walk out of the building, out into the fray, and to keep walking. To see what happened. After all, _anything_ had to be better than this silent limbo…

 _I really suck at pep talks,_ she thought ruefully, shaking her head at her attempt at dark humor. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, silently begging for this all to be a nightmare, and that when she opened her eyes she would be somewhere else – _almost anywhere else._ After one more deep breath she opened her eyes, hoping to find that the world had somehow transformed into one in which she had some semblance, some ounce of control over _something_ in it. Alas, it had not. The people down on the street below still moved just as hurriedly and the room in which she stood was still just as still and empty.

Suddenly she felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over her, and she was sure that if she didn't sit down, she would simply fall to the ground. It wasn't that surprising, really, considering how badly she'd slept so far since the night she'd crawled out of the duffle bag. Pulling out one of the cushioned leather chairs from the long table, she sat down in it, and for a few seconds she just enjoyed the feeling of sitting in something so soft. It only lasted a moment, however, before reality, which was never more than a few steps behind her, washed over her again. The weight of it pressing down on her threatened to crush her, or at least it felt like it would any second.

 _What am I doing?_ she asked herself. _Who was I kidding that I'd be able to do anything about any of this? That I'd be able to help them?_ A little voice in the back of her head attempted to point out that she already _had_ helped them, that she'd saved Weller's _life_ for goodness sake, but she ignored that small voice. That was just a coincidence.

Her elbows were propped up on the table, and she slowly lowered her head down into her hands, kneading the heels of those hands against her eyes until she saw spots floating there in the blackness in front of her. She didn't know how to help, how or _if_ they even wanted her to help, or what she could do besides tag along and hope something would come to her. Really, she was no better than a puppy. The problem was, she also didn't know how to sit back and do _nothing_ either, to wait for the others to solve all this, to follow the clues, despite the fact that this was allegedly what they were good at. No matter what she tried to do, apparently she was going to end up frustrated and, like right now, all alone.

There was a click and a gentle _whoosh_ of air as the door from the hallway was opened, and Jane heard someone clear their throat nervously. She raised her head slowly to find a young man, who she could only assume was a junior agent – he looked the type and the age, anyway – standing awkwardly and looking at her. "Jane, uh… Doe?" he asked uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure first, if he had the right person and second, that she wasn't going to hurt him.

She tried to force herself to smile at him, but it didn't work, so she simply nodded her head. "Yes?" she asked tiredly, still seeing spots from the pressure she'd exerted on her eyes for the last few minutes.

"Agent Weller wanted me to come and find you. The team is back. He asked that you meet them in the bullpen," the young man reported. Jane nodded, sighing quietly and pushing herself to her feet, feeling just a tiny bit better.

 _At least he asked someone to come and find me,_ she told herself. _That's something. And at least I get to escape the quiet for a while. And maybe they found something_. The thought gave her hope.

"Okay," Jane replied tiredly, "thank you."

"Do you… know where that is from here?" the junior agent asked nervously.

That time Jane did muster a smile for him, not wanting to appear completely unfriendly to the young man, who, judging from the way his eyes widened slightly when she came closer, found her even more intimidating when she stood up. "Just down that hall, around the corner to the left and then at the end of the next hall, right?" she asked. She did know the way, but she figured that the agent would feel better _knowing_ that she could find it, so that no one could accuse him of not doing his job.

The younger man nodded, and then added, "Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, I'm on my way," Jane told him, exiting the conference room behind the agent, who disappeared down the hall in the opposite direction as if he wanted to get away from her as quickly as possible – which, she imagined, remembering that she probably looked at least vaguely threatening to him – he probably did. He glanced over his shoulder at her only once as he retreated, just before rounding the corner. He wasn't the first person who'd looked at her that way already, after all – as if she was going to attack them. Sighing once again, Jane set off purposefully for the bullpen to see what the team had discovered without her. All she could do was keep going.

They were already talking when she got there. She walked up silently behind Reade, who sat at a computer terminal, and listened carefully to what they were saying. Weller glanced at her for a second, which was the most greeting that she got from any of them, as they continued talking as if she wasn't there. Reade had brought up a map of Manhattan on which, as she watched silently, three dots – the locations of three marinas – appeared on the screen. Apparently, though there was no boat listed under the name they were looking for at any of them, they had been told that one of their suspects lived on a boat "in Manhattan," which meant that it had to be one of the three.

Just then, Weller got a phone call. It was the police officer that Weller had talked to at the hospital, informing him that the suspect who had been unconscious there had woken up. Jane's heart leapt in her chest as she considered the possibility that she may be able to get some kind of answer from him. This could be it...

 _It could also be nothing,_ the voice in her head reminded her, but she barely heard it. As desperate as she was for answers, she refused to believe that their only lead would be useless… He simply _had_ to tell them something they could use to figure out who she was and what the connection was between her and all of her tattoos…

Reade and Zapata were assigned to oversee the raid of the three marinas, in conjunction with NYPD, and Weller announced that he would take Jane to the hospital. While the women started walking toward the door in anticipation of an immediate departure, Reade stopped Weller with concerns about his objectivity. He wasn't as subtle about it as he had intended to be, however, because Zapata and Jane could hear everything. As the two women neared the door, they heard Reade tell Weller than he was "a little close to this one," and that Reade thought they should switch assignments – that Reade should go with Jane to the hospital and Weller should run the marina raid.

Jane stood frozen there, listening, and for some reason that she didn't quite understand, almost holding her breath. All she knew was that she hoped very much that Weller wouldn't agree to what Reade was proposing. Reade hadn't been outwardly hostile towards her – not _exactly_ – but he certainly hadn't been friendly to her so far. Weller, on the other hand… despite the fact that she was still upset that he'd left her back from their last trip into the field… Well, she felt like there was some sort of understanding between the two of them.

Zapata's eyes darted back and forth from Jane to the two men across the room. She was conflicted. On one hand, she could understand Reade's concern. Weller did seem to have some sort of irrational attachment to Jane. On the other hand, however, Reade seemed to be at the opposite end of the spectrum – he seemed to have something against her that he just couldn't seem to let go of. Zapata had worked with Weller for a long time – as had Reade, of course – which made his behavior even more frustrating to her. After all, Weller's instincts were almost never wrong, leading Zapata to be inclined to support his decision, despite her misgivings. Besides, he was the lead agent for a reason. She stood and waited tensely with Jane to see how the situation would play out.

Jane watched Weller and Reade's confrontation carefully, and was surprised when Weller turned to look at her over his shoulder – it wasn't just a glance, but a look that lasted a long several seconds, one in which he looked into her eyes as if he was searching for something. While he looked at her, she found that she couldn't look away... not that she wanted to.

 _Please_ , her eyes seemed to beg him as he studied her, looking for confirmation that he was doing the right thing. _Not Reade_ , he heard her plead, despite the fact that she never opened her mouth. Somewhere deep inside him a voice told him that Reade was right, that he _was_ too close to this one. Reade was looking at him the same way Mayfair already had – like he was making the wrong choice. The rational part of him _knew_ this.

 _But if she's Taylor…_ he thought. _Then I have to protect her. No matter what._ And that was the end of the argument in his head. He'd failed Taylor once already, and it had nearly ruined his life. There was _nothing_ that was going to stop him from protecting her this time. Not after so many years and so much heartbreak.

When Weller looked away from Jane and back at Reade, she finally remembered to breathe. To her relief, he continued to disagree with his agent's assessment, insisting that the assignments stood as they had been given. Weller would take Jane to the hospital and Reade and Zapata would coordinate with NYPD to run the raid of the three marinas. Reade had attempted to protest several times, and at last Weller had to resort to the words, "That's an order." He didn't like for it to come to that between them, and in fact he couldn't remember the last time it _had,_ but Reade simply hadn't relented until he'd uttered those words, as distasteful to him as they were.

Back in the car once more, Weller and Jane buckled their seatbelts pulling out of the garage into light traffic a minute later. Neither of them had uttered a word, and the silence was becoming more and more awkward. Still, it was better than the deafening boom of her blood in her ears when she was alone with her thoughts. Somehow, sitting beside him, even as annoyed as she was that he had left her behind earlier, she was still calmed by his presence.

She wanted to believe that it was just as Agent Patterson had said, and the team just needed to find their new shape, with her as a part of it. But sitting beside him in the silent car, watching him as his face revealed nothing… she wondered if maybe she'd been wrong about him. After all, it wasn't as though she was anything more than a new responsibility for him, part of his job, and from the looks of things just then, an annoyance.

What little composure she had was slipping. While she had nothing to compare it to, as she'd already told Weller, not having a frame of reference, this constant feeling of panic was exhausting. She could only assume that others didn't feel that way, based on the few people she'd had a chance to watch. No, she could see no traces of the threat of imminent emotional meltdown that _she_ felt at almost any given moment in the faces of anyone else around her, leading her to believe that it was simply her who felt that way. Suffice it to say that this was _not_ reassuring.

He'd been watching her, of course, and knew that she was watching him. It made sense, he supposed. She was desperate for information, and so far she'd been kept relatively isolated.

 _For her own good,_ he reminded himself. _All of this is for her own good. We don't_ _ **know**_ _anything yet, so how can I tell her anything_?

 _You could be a little nicer to her, though,_ he reminded himself. He resisted this idea, annoyed as he was with the whole situation. She wasn't a child, after all. He shouldn't have to feel bad about being direct with her.

 _Maybe not,_ the voice in his head countered. _But she_ _ **is**_ _scared and alone. The least you can do is try a little harder to be nice._

 _Fine,_ he conceded to his conscience. _I'll try._

Though he knew that he should talk to her, tell her something reassuring at the very least, for the moment he resisted. It wasn't as though words were his strong suit, after all. They never had been. Still, the more he watched her, glancing at her more than he probably should have as he drove, the more his annoyance with her ebbed, leaving him feeling guilty for leaving her behind when they'd gone to talk to Isabella Dechirico. Yes, it had been for her own safety. But in her place… he imagined that _he'd_ be pretty pissed off with him, too.

They were almost at the hospital when he spoke. "Are you alright?" he asked, immediately regretting it. _Does she look alright, Weller? She doesn't even know what alright_ _ **feels like**_ _._

Jane nodded her head quickly, too quickly, making it fairly obvious that she was _not_ alright, and he wondered whether she was attempting to fool him or herself, or maybe both.

"I didn't…" He sighed. It wasn't as though he could say that he hadn't left her behind the previous time intentionally, because he had. _Had_ he been trying to punish her somehow for her recklessness at the mini-mall in Queens? Maybe. He'd just been so frustrated with her and at the same time, so worried about her safety... Between her getting shot at Liberty Island and her taking off on her own after a suspect instead of staying in the car, it had just seemed impossible to reconcile his frustration and worry in his mind at that moment, and just easier to leave her back at the NYO, where he knew she was safe. They'd gotten the information they'd needed, so he refused to second guess his call.

 _So why do I feel so guilty?_ he asked himself.

"I know you hate that I left you behind," he said, making a second attempt to make peace, or at least explain his decision. "But you didn't need to be there."

It wasn't what she'd been expecting, for whatever reason. She couldn't explain why she'd thought that he was going to apologize, but this was certainly not that. "You didn't know that," she replied through gritted teeth. "There could've been—"

"It was straightforward. Questioning a suspect," he interrupted her. "I've been doing this a long time. I know what I'm doing."

His tone told her that he wasn't inviting discussion of the matter, but she didn't care. After all, what did she have to _lose_ at this point? "Isn't that what you thought the other times?" She asked, perhaps slightly more aggressively than she'd meant to, her voice growing frantic more quickly than even _she_ had expected. "You didn't want to take me to Chinatown, either, but if I hadn't been there to talk to the guy at Chao's apartment, or to translate the video, we may never have stopped Chao in time. Can you really say for _sure_ when you'll need me there and when you won't?"

He hated that she had a point. His instincts had always guided him, and up until now, they'd almost always been right. _It's not as though this is just any case,_ the voice in his head pointed out. _You may need to rethink your approach._

There was silence in the car for several minutes as he digested her words. To his annoyance, he realized that she was right. It was quickly becoming apparent that with these tattoo cases, he had no idea what they would be going up against at any point along the way, only that the likelihood was that they were tied to her somehow, and he couldn't predict when she'd need to be there or even what he would need her there _for_. This annoyed him to no end, because he didn't like having so many unknown variables – and Jane was one giant collection of unknown variables.

For a few seconds, she saw his face twist in what she guessed was frustration. She was glad that he appeared to be thinking about what she'd said, even though he definitely didn't like it. However, his expression relaxed slowly as he continued to glance at her every few minutes. Jane, on the other hand, had said everything she needed to say for the time being. Judging from the fact that he hadn't said anything else, she guessed that either what she had said made sense to him, or he had just decided that he didn't feel like arguing with her. Either way, she could only hope that it had made a difference as she stared out the window.

When they pulled up in front of the hospital, Weller shifted the car into Park with a little more force than was necessary, and Jane looked over at him in surprise. She'd momentarily been lost in her thoughts.

He hadn't meant to push quite that hard, and the look on his face softened slightly as he simply said, "Come on, let's get in there." He pushed the door open and climbed out, closing it behind him, once again harder than he had meant to.

 _Calm down, Weller,_ he told himself. This behavior wasn't like him and he knew it.

Realizing that that was all she was going to get from him from the time being, despite the fact that an apology may or may not have been warranted, she sighed and pushed her door open as well, jogging to catch up with him on his march toward the front entrance. She caught up to him just as he got there, and he looked down at her as they walked through the sliding doors together.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded without a word, suddenly looking anxious, and it was only then that he felt guilty for taking his frustration out on her. They made their way to the elevator and the door closed on the two of them as Weller leaned forward to press the button. Without thinking about it, he stepped back to stand beside her, a few inches still separating them but closer than she had expected. Feeling him looking down at her, she glanced up and saw something different about his expression, something that hadn't been there since before he'd yelled at her earlier that day. _Understanding_. It took her by surprise.

Smiling awkwardly at him for a second, she quickly looked down at the floor. Her smile quickly gave way to anxiety, however. _I can do this,_ she told herself, not at all sure that she could do it.

After watching her for a second, he looked back up at the numbers as they lit up one at a time. The ride felt agonizingly long.

 _Or maybe that's because you're concentrating so hard on not talking to her,_ the voice in his head suggested.

 _What exactly should I be saying?_ he demanded of himself.

 _More than anything else right now, she just needs reassurance._ _ **Hope**_ _,_ the voice in his head told him. _You could at least do better at giving her_ _ **that**_.

With a sigh, he admitted to himself that the voice was right. It wasn't as if he didn't know how important it was to feel like you had hope when you had nothing else, after all…

Looking down at her beside him, he only had to wait a second before she met his eyes. Giving her his best encouraging smile – that is to say, moving the corner of his lips upward the tiniest bit – he held eye contact with her for a few seconds. Then, just before the doors opened, she returned his smile with a hesitant one of her own, as relief flooded her system. He saw her face change noticeably as he continued to focus on her, and then only a second later they both looked up as the elevator dinged to signal their arrival. A truce having been achieved between them, they stepped out and headed for Casey's room to see what, if anything, they could learn from him.


	33. You Can Trust Me

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 _A/N: I know, I know, I owe you an apology. I definitely didn't mean to neglect this story for 4 ½ months… but really, once I started_ _ **December**_ _, I couldn't pull myself away from it. I got a few guest "reviews" on this story during that time asking if I was going to continue it, but I had no waFy to respond – please remember that if you're not logged in with an account, I have no way to reply to you. In any case, luckily when I sat down to work on this chapter, I found that I'd already written quite a bit of it before starting December, so it didn't take me too long to finish. I hope you enjoy it._

 **Season 1, episode 3**

Almost from the time they found Casey's hospital room, things had gone downhill quickly. Though he had woken up earlier, their suspect wasn't awake when Jane and Weller arrived, and the doctor said that he'd been in and out, so it could be a while before he'd be conscious again. Despite whatever unofficial détente they may have reached in the car, the tension from earlier boiled over again as they stood in the room, unable to make any progress whatsoever until the man in the bed in front of them regained consciousness.

The argument had started over whether Jane should have a gun, continuing quickly on to whether they were being honest with each other – Jane, about what the bearded man had said to her before he was shot, and Weller whether or not he and Mayfair had been talking about Jane's case when she'd seen them earlier through the glass that separated her office from the bullpen. He'd been feeling badly about how he'd treated her, and then she had to go and push his buttons once again… it was almost as though she did it on purpose, and she certainly did it effectively. Why did she have to be so irritating?

She knew that she shouldn't bring it up again, but she simply couldn't stop herself. Did he not understand that with the situations they were constantly walking into, she was in _danger_ without a firearm? She obviously knew how to handle them – hadn't she already proven that? The rest of the team had guns…

Of course, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew that he wasn't actually even listening. Just the look on his face when she said the word "gun" told her that it wasn't even worth it to finish her sentence. He immediately confirmed this, telling her in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to give her a gun. Was he _trying_ to be an ass, or did it just come naturally?

When he changed the subject to what the bearded man had said to her, she suddenly became very uncomfortable about the choice she'd made earlier to lie to him. Something he'd said in their heated exchange had stuck in her head – when he'd mentioned that she needed to prove she could be trusted. She supposed that in his place, she would be angry with her as well. She didn't _want_ to lie to him… and so she blurted out the only three words that the man had said to her.

"He said, 'Don't trust them,'" she told him. Not that she knew who he had been talking about. The fact that Weller _still_ insisted, even now she'd been honest with him, that he and Mayfair had been talking about another case when she was certain that they'd been talking about her… well, it was almost like a slap in the face. She would have been angry… except just as he finished talking, the lights had gone out and gunshots had echoed nearby. Suddenly, everything changed. The animosity that had materialized between them all over again dissipated, and suddenly neither of them was thinking about anything except how to handle the situation – figuring out what was going on, and how to contain the danger as quickly as possible.

It wasn't hard to figure out that this was an attempt to extract Casey from custody, so their first move was to relocate him. As soon as Weller and Jane had wheeled the man's bed into another room, Weller surprised her with his intention to run right back _toward_ the gunshots, to draw the gunmen away. Of course, if she'd known him better, this wouldn't have surprised her at all.

When he handed her his gun she was momentarily confused, but then he said something that confused her even further.

"You're right, you need a gun," were his exact words.

 _Now_ he trusted her with a gun all of a sudden? But there was no time to feel annoyed, or smug or vindicated, or anything else for that matter, because the only thing she could focus on was that there was gunfire nearby, and he was handing her his gun and running back _toward_ the danger. That wasn't a normal thing to do. When he assured her that he had another one, it didn't go far towards making her feel better. On the contrary, the fact that he'd just run into the hall in the direction of the commotion made her feel slightly sick.

She knew for a fact that Weller was more than capable of defending himself, however, they'd already found themselves in situations where she'd saved his life in the few days that they'd known each other, and she didn't like to imagine what would happen if that happened again, but she wasn't there to help him. It was irrational, maybe, but she couldn't stand the thought of something happening to him – after all, he was the closest thing she had to a friend. But she had to try to talk to Casey, so she couldn't even spare the time to worry about Weller.

When Weller heard the telltale clicks that told him _and_ the man with whom he'd been exchanging gunfire that he was out of ammo, he knew that he was in trouble. In seconds, the man was there with a gun pointed in his face.

"Where is he?" he man asked, his gun pointed directly at him.

All Weller could do was put his hands up, mumbling, "Easy," over and over to the man, hoping to calm him down enough that he wouldn't shoot him. There was no way that Weller was going to give this man Casey's location – which would also have been putting Jane in danger – and it appeared that the man was about to shoot him when suddenly there was rapid gunfire from off to his left side, and the man was down.

 _Jane_. Once again she had saved his life. He felt a rush of relief to see her there, not only because she had just stopped this man from killing him, but also because _she_ was unharmed as well. However, that meant that Casey was alone and vulnerable. Taking what he could off of the man that Jane had just shot, he felt her stare without even having to look at her.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I've been better," he told her evenly.

After a short discussion of how many suspects were left, as far as they knew, they began making their way back quickly to where Jane had left Casey.

They both had their weapons up and were walking almost side by side, but it wasn't long before a wave of déjà vu hit Kurt, and he suddenly felt a protective instinct kick in. This reminded him a little too much of that hallway at the base of the Statue of Liberty, where Chao had shot Jane. With a nod of his head, he beckoned her closer, having an uneasy feeling about a potential ambush. As they made their way down the darkened hallway, he stepped in front of her, keeping her behind him after that, both of them with their guns at the ready.

Just before they rounded the next corner, there was a noise that he couldn't identify from somewhere just out of range. Without hesitation, his left arm shot out in front of her, holding her back from going any farther. She hadn't stopped _quite_ as quickly as he had, and she ended up leaning gently against his arm.

The fact that his instinct had been to put his arm out protectively in her direction, to stop her from moving toward possible danger until he knew whether there was a threat, did not go unnoticed. Short as that moment was, she drank it in. Despite the fact that he probably would've done it for anyone, she allowed herself to memorize the feeling that such an action gave her: just for a second, she focused on the fact that he was concerned for her safety. As far as she could remember, he was the only one who'd acted that way towards her.

His arm remained poised in front of her for several seconds as they listened. When no further noises came, Weller very slowly moved forward, toward the corner, to get a look at whatever waited for them on the other side, still holding his arm out in front of Jane. As he crept slowly forward, the angle at which he held his arm behind him grew sharper, as he attempted to keep Jane as far behind him as possible – for her own safety. After all, she'd already been shot once when she as standing by his side.

Having determined that there was no one waiting for them around that corner, he began to relax the arm that was holding her back, bringing it back down to his side slowly. He'd almost allowed himself to like the fact that when his arm had been up like that, he had a tangible reminder that she was there, and that she was safe. Even the slightest contact with her was enough to reassure him – after spending twenty-five years agonizing over Taylor's whereabouts, and now suddenly being convinced that she _was_ Taylor, he was almost obsessed with knowing where she was, and that she was safe. Sometimes it wasn't even enough to see her there. The fact that he could feel the pressure of his arm against her made her more real, made him more certain that she was there.

While it didn't prevent him from dashing off towards danger – that was just a routine part of the job after all these years – and even now that _she_ had just saved _his_ life once again – he couldn't shake the feeling, the need, to know where she was, that she was safe, at all times. Having reluctantly dropped his arm from in front of her, he fought the need to turn around and see for himself that she was there behind him every few seconds. The anger and frustration he'd felt with her when they'd arrived at the hospital had been replaced by concern for her safety that had the same intensity as his negative feelings had. They had to figure out a way to apprehend the men who were doing this, and fast.

He rounded the last corner before they reached Casey's room first, his gun raised just in case, but was met with only an empty, dimly lit hallway. Motioning to Jane that it was clear, he saw her creep into his peripheral vision, momentarily satisfying the need he felt to reassure himself of her safety.

 _Maybe Reade and Mayfair were right. Maybe you_ _ **are**_ _too close to this case_ , he thought as they crept slowly down the hallway, pausing to clear each doorway they came to, to be sure that no one was going to jump out at them _._ While clearing each individual room was quick work, there were many of them, making their progress down the hall slower than he would have liked.

It was an unsettling thought – that he might not be the best one for the job of lead agent on Jane's case. But then, he tried to imagine anyone else being there to protect her from the gunmen who were currently in the hospital, however many of them there were, and he instantly knew that objective or not, he had made the right decision. There was no way he could imagine leaving something as important as Jane's safety in the hands of anyone else.

To their dismay, when they reached the room where Jane had left Casey, they found an empty bed. For a few seconds they stood and stared at it, their minds reeling from the fact that they needed to find him, and whoever was with him, before it was too late.

Moving in the direction that would likely lead to the exit to try to locate Casey, they found him being taken into an elevator. Taking the stairs, they met them at the ground floor, and there were several more exchanges of gunfire with Casey's brother. The last of these exchanges was just inside one of the main hospital exits and resulted in the man being shot, at which time Jane finally had the chance to question Casey. He wasn't able to say much, but in his last breath, he gave Jane one tiny piece of information – when asked how he knew her, he's managed to whisper, "Orion."

Once it was clear that Casey was dead, Jane felt everything go fuzzy around her. Walking outside into the night air, she saw the lights of the police and other emergency vehicles parked outside as merely a swirl of color, the many people milling about as merely faceless shapes, moving around her. She wasn't conscious of anything that seemed real until Weller walked up slowly behind her, moving around to her side and stopping facing her. Her eyes remained down, not focused on anything as she felt a pit of emptiness in her stomach expanding quickly, ready to eat her from the inside out.

Weller tried his best to reassure her, knowing all the while that it probably wasn't doing any good. Seeing her there, looking so despondent… Though he'd promised himself that he wouldn't tell her his theory about her identity, that she was Taylor Shaw, until after the DNA results were back, at that moment the only thing that mattered was giving her hope. He was simply physically unable to sit and look at her like that, so sad. As he'd hoped she would, she seemed to grasp that little piece of information firmly, staring back at him just as intensely as he was staring at her.

"You can trust me, Jane, I've been looking for you my whole life."

Was it even possible? That Weller was right? That she was Taylor Shaw? She felt herself turn away from the intensity of his stare, somehow, her eyes darting out into the crowd still surrounding the hospital. The swirling lights were still everywhere, and she suddenly felt weak, as if the amount of energy that had been required to process the information he'd just given her had used what little energy had been left, and had overloaded her system. Unable to bring herself to look at him again right away, she didn't even realize that she was gulping in air faster that she had been a minute ago until she heard the strange noise and wondered where it had come from.

He watched a change come over her, and knew that he probably shouldn't have told her. Already he was reprimanding himself inside his head for getting her hopes up… but what else was he supposed to do? Just stand there and watch her spin into despair? That just seemed cruel to him. Besides, he _knew_ that she was Taylor. It wasn't just a theory. He was absolutely sure of it – and how often were his gut instincts wrong? In his experience, that was an extremely rare occurrence.

If he hadn't been watching her so intensely, he might have missed it, but because his eyes felt as though they were held onto her by magnetic force, he saw the first second that she began to waver, and once again following his gut instinct, he stepped forward without hesitation. His reward for his quick reflexes was that he caught her, his arm around her waist, before she fell to the ground. She was overwhelmed, that much was clear.

To say that she was surprised by the fact that her knees buckled under her suddenly was an understatement. After all, she had no memory of anything like that ever happening to her, and she hadn't even known that it was possible to be standing one second, and falling the next. But as surprised as she was, she was even _more_ surprised when, in the split second between when her knees betrayed her and before she would have hit the ground, Weller was there, his arm around her, stopping her from plummeting to the ground.

 _I probably shouldn't be surprised,_ she thought, _He always seems to know when I need someone._

She'd gasped in surprise as she'd begun to fall, and now, with Weller's arm around her waist, she struggled to catch her breath.

"Okay, Jane, it's okay… I got you…" he mumbled, feeling her shaking in what he assumed was surprise. "Come on, let's go sit down, okay?" All she could do at that moment was nod as he steered her to a bench not too far away, but away from the direction of the swirling lights and the faceless shapes, on the other side of the entrance that they'd just come out of.

He got her to the bench, and she hunched over, leaning her elbows against her knees and breathing hard, still trying to steady herself. The world seemed to have suddenly gone very unsteady, and she wasn't quite sure how to get her balance back.

After watching helplessly from beside her for a few seconds, his hand acted of its own accord. Without consciously deciding to do so, he found that it on her back, just below her hunched shoulders, where it began moving slowly back and forth across her shoulder blades. For a second she tensed, but then he felt her relax noticeably, and within another minute, her breathing evened out.

She remained in the same position, shoulders hunched forward, simply breathing in and out and, as she once again began to focus on what was happening around her. As she did, she found herself staring at the ground, not wanting to look back at him just yet. Somehow, she could feel the intensity of his stare on her back. Though she could have moved, now, she found the sensation of his hand simply moving back and forth across her back to be soothing, and she let her eyes fall closed, just focusing on that and nothing else except the fact that she was still breathing.

Her shoulders were no longer tightly hunched forward, he noticed, but she didn't make any move to sit back. He watched as her head fell slightly forward, and wondered if he should be concerned. From where he sat, he couldn't see her face, and he found that he didn't like that. After all, he could read so much emotion from her face, especially from her eyes… and just now, he didn't have access to any of it. Still, she didn't seem tense any longer, so he decided that that was a good start. Wondering fleetingly if he should stop rubbing her back, if, because she now seemed to be alright, it was becoming awkward, he unconsciously slowed the progress of his hand across her back as he considered it.

When his hand's movement across her back slowed down, she noticed immediately. The motion had been almost hypnotic, and when it slowed down, and then a minute later, when it came to a stop, she felt a rush of anxiety once again grip her insides as everything that she had momentarily managed to push from her mind came galloping back to her. She waited nervously, sure that he was about to withdraw his hand from her back any second, relaxing again only when a minute went by and his hand didn't move. No, there it sat in the middle of her back, and she tried to focus on the pressure of it. Inhaling a shaky breath, then exhaling it again, she tried her best to calm down.

He'd been just about to remove his hand from her back, but when he stopped moving it back and forth, he'd felt her tense again. _Was that because my hand stopped moving?_ he wondered. Letting it sit there, still, in the center of her back, he tried to decide if it had been a coincidence. When he didn't remove his hand from her, after a minute, he felt her relax once again.

 _Interesting_ , he thought, surprised that there did seem to be such a direct connection between his actions and her tension level.

"Jane," he said quietly, knowing that he would feel better if he could look in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She realized that she was monopolizing his time, sitting there, and that he probably had other things he needed to do. This was an all-consuming part of her life, after all, but it was his _job_. Surely he needed to be doing something besides sitting on this bench with her as she had a panic attack. The thought that he needed to be elsewhere just then gave her a strangely empty feeling, but she told herself that she was being ridiculous and slowly forced herself to sit back and look at him beside her.

As she sat back and turned her back away from him, so that she was once again looking into his eyes, his hand slipped off of her back. She had been the one to move, but still he wondered if the loss in contact would also mean that she would tense up again. When her eyes moved up to meet his, he looked into them insistently, attempting to discern the answers to his questions about her, and her well-being. Though he felt that he could read her pretty well, there was just so _much_ in her expression, it felt almost impossible to get it all.

Having almost forgotten that he'd asked her a question as she stared into his eyes, she finally remembered to respond. Nodding quickly, she once again ducked her head, looking down at her lap. "Yeah," she said unconvincingly. Then realizing that she'd already told him that she didn't know what _okay_ felt like, she began to shake her head. After all, she suspected that whatever _okay_ felt like, what she was feeling just then wasn't it. A wave of sadness overtook her then, as she realized that she might _never_ be okay – or at least that was how she felt at that moment. "I mean… I…" Feeling herself begin to shake, she inhaled slowly, dismayed to realize that she was close to tears.

Wishing that he had never asked the question, which seemed to have backfired on him, he leaned toward her and put his right arm around her shoulders, tugging her slightly toward him. "Hey," he said, once again feeling her tense first, and then after a moment, relax at his touch. He was struggling with what to say that wouldn't once again make things worse. "You will be, I promise. Remember?" She had let her head fall against his chest, and now he felt it nodding against him lightly.

It was time to get back to work, he knew, and yet he couldn't bring himself to let go of her. He honestly wasn't sure if she would be okay on her own just then. Despite the fierceness of some of the things he'd already seen her do, at that moment she seemed so fragile, it was as if she might crumble right there in front of his eyes.

 _Don't be dramatic,_ he told himself. _She'll be fine. The best thing you can do to help her is to get back to work._

Just then there was noise over his left shoulder, back in the direction of the crowds in front of the hospital, and he turned his head to look. When he did, he saw Reade and Zapata walking in his direction, each watching him with a questioning look on their faces as they approached. He withdrew his arm from around her slowly, and she began to sit up, avoiding his eyes self-consciously.

"I'm going to see what's going on, okay?" he asked her uncertainly. She just nodded, looking at her lap and once again already looking lost.

"Nothing more we can do here," Zapata told him as he stood up and walked toward them. She glanced at his ear and saw that he'd pulled his comm out, and it dangled near his neck. That explained his lack of response in the past few minutes. "Mayfair wants us back up there for debrief ASAP."

He realized only then that that was why he hadn't heard any chatter recently from the team, now remembering pulling his comm out of his ear when he was talking to Jane when they'd first come outside.

"Is she okay?" Reade asked, looking past him at a distraught looking Jane on the bench behind him.

"Shaken up, but fine," Weller replied, not wanting to go into detail, and assuming that that would be enough information for them. When they both just nodded, he added, "I'll see you back there then," meaning the NYO. "I'll just get Jane and I'll be on my way." Zapata and Reade watched him for a few seconds, glancing between Weller and Jane, both nodding at him as if they wanted to say something, but had decided not to.

"See you there," Zapata replied. Before he had a chance to forget, Weller put his comm back in his ear, so that he could talk to the team if necessary. He was surprised with himself for taking it out in the first place – it was very unlike him.

Walking the short distance back to the bench, he looked down at Jane. "Time to head back to the office," he told her. "You need a hand?"

She felt self-conscious about having collapsed, after thinking about it extensively while Weller, Zapata and Reade had been talking, and was now determined to get back to the car on her own despite how weak she still felt.

"No, I got it," she assured him, pushing herself slowly up off of the bench with both hands. Silently begging her knees to support her, she took a tentative step toward him, then another, finding that she could indeed support her own weight.

It appeared that she wasn't quite sure that her legs would hold her, but after a few steps it became clear that she was able to walk on her own, so he simply turned and walked beside her, back to the car. Every few seconds, however, he glanced back at her, trying to determine whether she was still alright. It was a relief when they reached the car, and he could get her safely inside. Walking back around the car, he looked at her through the driver's side window for the split second before he opened his door to get in.

 _Yes, she's Taylor,_ he thought. It had been a long time since he had been so sure of anything, and the thought filled him with wonder as he climbed into the car beside her, watching her smile weakly at him. _No doubt about it._


	34. Taylor Shaw

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 **Season 1, episode 3**

Jane stared out the window the whole way back to the NYO, her eyes fixed on the darkness, not even appearing to notice the bright lights they passed as they made their way through the darkened city streets. Her expression, to Kurt's frustration, was unreadable – what little he could see of it anyway – simply blank. She didn't look desperate, the way she had looked about to crack wide open in despair just after Casey had died, before Weller told her he thought she was Taylor Shaw, nor did she look surprised or hopeful as she had afterwards. No, right now her expression just looked… _empty_.

As much as he disliked seeing her in pain, he disliked seeing this look on her face just as much, if not more. After all, he was familiar with the many degrees of emotional pain that a person could suffer, and he recognized the blank look on her face as one of them. There was a point at which it was all just too much, and he was no stranger to it. The look on her face just then was the one that he associated, from his own experience, with exactly that. Consequently, it was hard for him to keep his eyes on the road, because he was so worried about her there beside him. He wasn't sure whether or not telling her about his suspicions had been a good idea after all, the difference being that now he felt responsible for the stress that she was under, instead of just feeling responsible for fixing whatever it was that was bothering her.

 _I can't win,_ he thought in resignation.

Of course, that wasn't going to stop him from trying. After all, this was personal – it had been since the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

Jane was staring out the window without seeing anything. She'd let her eyes unfocus as soon as they'd started driving, finding it easier to also blur her thoughts that way, as well. It didn't help much, but it did help a little – taking the blunt edges off of the ideas that were racing in circles through her mind, making it easier for them to float in and out and around each other. After all, when she tried to make connections between what little information they had, nothing seemed to fit together, no matter how much it felt like something _should_ just jump out and be the clue she was looking for. Therefore, it was less frustrating if she reduced her thoughts to fuzzy, non-specific whispers. That way, there was less of an expectation that anything would make sense, only that they would echo in her head, each of them vying for her attention. It wasn't much better, but it was something.

Weller was starting at her, she knew. Or at least, he was looking at her as much as he safely could while driving the car. She got the feeling that he wanted to say something to her, but to her surprise and relief, he stayed quiet. Despite the fact that she knew he meant well, she really wasn't in the mood to talk about any of it. If there was no one who could give her any real answers, which it seemed that there wasn't, then she just wanted to escape for a little while. This was the closest thing to escaping that it seemed that she could get.

The idea that she might be Taylor Shaw was intoxicating. After even just a few days of spending every waking second desperate to know who she was and what had happened to her, the possibility that she _had_ an identity was almost too good to be true. And yet, the test result wasn't back yet, so she knew that she should contain her excitement.

But Weller seemed so _sure_ that she was Taylor. When had _he_ first suspected it? The way he watched her, the way he acted around her… she could only assume that it was because he thought that she was Taylor. It made this possible identity of hers doubly attractive. After all, being Taylor was not only a large part of the puzzle, but it meant that she had at least one person who truly cared about her. The way Weller looked at her, with dizzying intensity… It made her _want_ to be Taylor, not just for her, but for him. It was already clear to her how much it meant to him that she could be. After all, his words from outside the hospital still echoed in her mind – _"I've been looking for you my whole life."_ After hearing something like that, how could she _not_ hope that she was Taylor?

 _And if you're not Taylor? What then?_ the voice in her head asked, playing devil's advocate.

 _If I'm not, I'm not_ , she thought in reply. _But I don't think…_

 _It seems risky to get your hopes up,_ the voice told her. And yet, how could she not? Besides hope, what else did she have? The answer, of course, was absolutely nothing. If she wasn't Taylor, then she wasn't anything to him after all. But just the way he looked at her… it wasn't nothing. It couldn't be nothing. It all just had to mean _something_ …

She was so lost in thought, so overwhelmed, that her eyes had closed even though she hadn't realized she was at all sleepy. The next thing she knew, she was opening them. Kurt had opened the car door beside her, and was standing there, watching her expectantly.

"Jane?" he was asking her. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I… yeah… sorry," she replied, trying to jar her thoughts loose, feeling groggy and slightly disoriented. Looking past Weller, she saw that they were in the FBI garage. "Back to work, huh?" she asked tiredly.

"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "I need to meet with the team about what happened at the hospital. Do you… need a hand?" he asked tentatively.

"No, I'm okay," she said determinedly, turning herself to the right to step out of the car.

He stepped back, out of her way, watching her. Despite the fact that he _knew_ he should remain skeptical until he knew for sure, he just couldn't. He _knew,_ after all. She _was_ Taylor. Therefore, he simply could not get tired of watching her. It was exactly like he'd told her – he'd been looking for her almost his whole life, and now that he'd found her… Well, if he could get away with never taking his eyes off of her again, he would do just that.

They walked into the building from the garage without another word, Jane keeping up with his pace beside him. _Breathe,_ she told herself. It seemed like a simple enough thing to do, one that she shouldn't even have needed to remind herself, but apparently it was necessary.

When they reached the bullpen, he glanced into the adjoining conference room where Mayfair, Zapata and Reade were already gathered. He didn't want to, but he knew that he had to leave Jane outside.

"This workstation's empty," he told her, indicating a chair at a computer to one side of them. "Just hang out here for a little bit. I need to go in there and talk to them." Jane nodded distractedly, not quite focusing on him.

"Okay," she replied. He wanted to say something else, but he was conscious of the fact that the others were watching him, and were waiting for him so that they could debrief.

"Are you sure you're okay here for a little bit?" he asked her, his voice giving away just how concerned he was.

Looking up at him for the first time since he'd opened her car door, she seemed surprised at the question. "I'm… yeah. I mean…" Again, she knew that she wasn't okay, and she knew that he knew it, too. "Don't worry about me."

Nodding slowly, not convinced but knowing that he had no choice, he watched her for a few more seconds. "Okay," he replied. "I'll be in there if you need me." Only after he saw her nod once more did he head into the conference room, where the others were waiting impatiently for him.

Instead of sitting down, however, she walked a few steps to the edge of the bullpen area, out of the flow of traffic, and stood, staring into space. She glanced once into the conference room, watching the four team members discuss what had happened at the hospital. Even though she was undeniably a part of this, at the same time, she wasn't. She knew this. She wasn't an FBI agent, she was a victim, or an asset, or whatever they classified her as. There was no reason for her to be in there, with the people who handled these types of situations as their _job_. And yet, despite that, it did not stop her from feeling like she _should_ be in there with them, like she could have helped them somehow. Because despite the fact that she wasn't one of them, she'd already been necessary to these tattoo cases several times.

Sighing in frustration, she turned away, hoping to ease the tension she felt by not looking directly at them. However, when she looked away, her thoughts turned to the next most pressing topic in her brain, whether or not she was Taylor Shaw. Closing her eyes, she attempted to silence those as well, though it didn't work.

Not long afterwards, Kurt exited the conference room to look for Jane, and was momentarily worried when he didn't see her where he'd left her. However, when his eyes swept over the bullpen, he saw here not far away, leaning against a wall, her head down. His feet made their way to her before he'd even given them the order to do so, coming to a stop in front of her just a little closer than he would have stood to anyone else, but still at a respectful distance.

"Jane."

The sound of her name, of Weller's voice, broke through her thoughts and she looked up to see him standing in front of her. She didn't answer, just looked at him expectantly, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"Mayfair wants to see you in her office," he said, his face betraying nothing. She hoped that the serious tone of his voice wasn't supposed to be a sign of what was to come from that conversation. "She said to go in, she'll be right there." When she looked back, Jane saw Mayfair still in the conference room, talking with a disgruntled looking Reade and a lightly less hostile looking Zapata.

Following her eyes, Kurt turned to see what she was looking at. "Don't worry about them," he told her, as if reading her mind. It was true, his first thought _had_ been to wonder what they were saying about her, looking so upset.

Looking at Kurt skeptically, she asked simply, "Are you sure? They look pretty… upset."

But Kurt shook his head emphatically. "Trust me," he told her, "They're just upset because they're not getting their way."

Jane looked into his eyes for a few seconds, trying to pull more information out of them than he'd given her.

 _Trust me_. The words rang in her ears. She barely knew him, and yet… he'd given her no reason not to trust him, and more than a few reasons why she should.

"Okay," she replied quietly, watching him carefully for a few seconds more before walking past him slowly towards Mayfair's office. After a second's hesitation, she pulled the glass door open and took several steps inside, then turned around and stood awkwardly, facing away from the door and waiting for Weller's boss to come in. This felt ominous, and she just wished that it was over with.

Now it was Kurt's turn to wait in the bullpen for Jane. Mayfair had, in the end, agreed with him, that Jane should be armed in order to be in the field. Reade had already balked at the idea that Jane should even officially be a part of the team, and he hadn't done much to hide his disbelief that they were giving her a gun as well, field certification or not. Zapata had just sighed resignedly and rolled her eyes at both, not vocally protesting, like Reade, but clearly not pleased, either. Kurt, of course, had been the one who had championed both of these ideas with Mayfair, so he was sent to relay the message to Jane to meet her in her office while Mayfair said a few last words of warning to Zapata and Reade. It looked to Kurt like those words were something along the lines of, "This is happening, so you need to accept it."

The wait in Mayfair's office wasn't long, and within minutes, Jane was in the presence of the Assistant Director herself. Despite the fact that initially, it felt as though Mayfair was telling her that she was no longer allowed in the field with the team, she was shocked when she walked out of the office a few minutes later, having been told exactly the opposite. Not only were they going to let her be a part of the team, at the insistence, Mayfair had said, of the other three agents, but she was officially allowed to have a gun.

She was still slightly in shock when she found herself back in the bullpen, and she saw Weller approaching her from where he'd been standing by the wall, waiting. Despite what Mayfair had said, she knew from the looks on the other agent's faces that there had not been unanimous agreement. Actually, she would have been surprised if Reade and Zapata had even given grudging agreement, or if they'd simply been told that that was the way it was going to be. No, she knew that Weller had been the one who'd championed both having her on the team and giving her a gun, and consequently, it was hard to know how to properly express her gratitude to him.

While the glares she'd gotten through the glass from Reade and Zapata had been very much unamused, to put it mildly, Weller appeared relieved as he strode to meet her. She didn't know what to say to him, so she said the only thing she could think of.

"Thank you." Her voice was quiet, but it couldn't have been more sincere.

There was a hint of a smile on his face as he nodded slightly at her. "Of course," he replied, equally softly. It was only seconds later when Patterson appeared, attempting to discreetly tell Kurt that she had Jane's DNA results back without actually saying those words, since Jane was standing right there and wasn't _supposed_ to have known about the test.

"I told her," Weller told Patterson bluntly. It took Patterson a few seconds to shake off this new piece of information, but Weller insisted that it was fine to give the results then and there.

" _You are Taylor Shaw."_

The words echoed in Jane's head. In some ways, she'd just been given a gift. After all, she had a _name_ , an identity… things she couldn't _remember_ ever having. Not only that, she had a past. Not just any past, but one with Weller. This explained the connection that seemed to exist between them, the thing that drew them together that she couldn't explain and that, judging from the way he looked at her, that he felt, as well.

In other ways, the fact that she was now Taylor was frightening. After all, she didn't _feel_ like Taylor. It was strange to be told that you are someone who you don't even know. It was one thing not to know _other_ people, but it was frightening to think that it was possible to not even know _yourself_.

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. When she looked up at Weller uncertainly, the look on his face matched what she felt – shock, mostly, but there was more there. Their eyes locked for a few seconds and she tried to focus on him, because the rest of the room felt like it was spinning. Then, as the spinning of the room threatened to knock her over, his hand reached across the small space between them, grasping her arm just above her elbow. Almost at the same time she did the same, feeling her hand shake as it struggled to come to rest around the same part of _his_ arm. When she did make contact with him, she could immediately feel herself able to breathe again, not even having realized that she'd been holding her breath in the first place.

Once again, she found his touch comforting. Whatever it was about him – and now she realized it probably had to do with their shared history, somehow – he seemed to be able to make the anxiety simply melt away simply by laying his hand on her arm. Despite the fact that she had almost no experiences in her memory to draw from, even still this seemed quite amazing to her.

He hadn't even thought about what he was doing when his hand had gone to her arm, only that he needed a physical confirmation that she was there, that she was real. _Taylor_ … his mind repeated. He'd spent most of his life wondering about her, searching for her, _blaming_ himself for her disappearance. And then suddenly, she'd been delivered to him, but in the strangest way possible. How? Why? There were no answers, at least not yet. As much as he had the most important thing – he had _her_ – there were a million questions that needed to be answered.

And yet, when he stood there beside her, watching her struggle to process her emotions about what they'd just heard, all of those questions flew out of his head. The only thing he could wonder was, "Is she okay?" In her shoes, he didn't know if he would be. He watched her as her eyes moved, unfocused, around the room, and then swept back up to his. Reminding himself to breathe, he focused on the fact that this was real. After so many years, she was there in front of him. It wasn't his imagination. He was _holding onto her_. She looked so scared, he noticed, and he squeezed her arm gently.

"I'll… uh… I'll give you guys some time to, uh…" Patterson stammered awkwardly before she backed away. "Just let me know if you need anything else." Standing there, watching Weller and Jane come to terms with the bombshell she'd just dropped was uncomfortable, and she wanted to get away as soon as possible. It was hard to tell whether they were happy or not – or maybe they were just _so_ shocked, they hadn't quite processed what it all meant. She knew that Weller had been looking for Taylor since he was ten, so she could only imagine that he was quite overwhelmed.

Patterson said something about leaving them alone, and then she was gone. Jane didn't really hear her. Mostly, all she heard was the blood pounding in her ears. She hadn't been able to hear much of anything since Patterson had told her that she was Taylor Shaw. So… she was this mystery girl that Weller had been looking for all his life… so _now what?_

Weller recovered first. Realizing that they should probably sit down, he pulled out the nearest unoccupied chair from one of the workstations nearby, and steered Jane toward it with the hand that still clasped her arm. As she lowered herself into the chair and he went to let go, he discovered just how tightly her hand was clasped around his arm. That was when he decided to keep holding onto her for the moment. Clearly, she wasn't ready for him to let go.

Reaching back, he pulled out the chair beside the one where Jane was now sitting, pulling it up beside hers, perpendicular to it so that he didn't have to let go of her arm, but so that he could also look into her eyes. He watched her intently, willing her to be okay. After all, she'd _already_ been through so much just that day alone. Knowing how overwhelmed _he_ felt, he couldn't imagine how _she_ was coping. After all, she was dealing with so much more than what he was feeling.

"Jane," he said softly, his eyes not leaving her face.

When she looked up at him, it struck him just how green her eyes were… how much emotion he could see inside them – more than he'd ever seen in anyone else's eyes – and how very lost she looked. He would do _anything_ to make that look go away.

Those green eyes finally met his, and he felt a rush almost like adrenaline. She looked… _desperate_ was the only word that came to mind.

"What do I…?" she started, but her voice trailed off into nothing. She was breathing faster, he noticed suddenly, as though she was panicking.

To his credit, Weller was right to look at her with so much concern, because she _did_ feel as though she was about to fall apart. How could she _not_? After all, how was she supposed to process all of this? It was simply too much. She felt herself beginning to hyperventilate, but it was as though she was watching it happen to someone else. Looking away from him, as if that would make her emotions less obvious to him, she cast her eyes down and tried to force herself to breathe normally. It didn't work, however.

"Jane, hey…" he said quietly.

In the space of those few seconds since she'd last addressed him, she had almost forgotten that he was there – despite the fact that his hand was still on her arm. When she heard his voice, therefore, it surprised her, and when she looked up, her escalating panic slowed just a little bit as she attempted to calm down.

"Okay? Jane? Hey… look at me…" he was saying to her. She couldn't be sure she'd heard everything, or if she'd missed some of what he'd said, but now she struggled to keep her eyes on him. His hand slipped slowly from her arm, not quite letting go, but sliding slowly down her arm, so she allowed her hand to release his arm as well, since he didn't seem to be pulling away completely. She didn't know what she would do if he let go of her now, even though she was already sitting down, and she hoped that she wasn't going to have to find out. When his hand reached hers, he laced their fingers together and held on tightly.

Inhaling deeply with relief, and then exhaling just as carefully, she looked down at her hand in his, trying to focus on that and nothing else. It felt good, steadying. Remembering that she'd been instructed to look at him, she moved her eyes back up to his, finding that he was staring at her worriedly.

"Why don't we get going?" he asked her, feeling like they both needed to get out of there, get away from work after everything that had already happened that day. It was the evening already, anyway. "I can drop you off at your safe house," he added. When he felt her stiffen, clenching his hand tightly, he shook his head. "Not right now," he promised. "Later." Her suddenly rigid back seemed to relax slightly then, though the look of anxiety that had sprung suddenly alive in her face was still there. From what he could tell, she was a bundle of nerves, and he just wanted to be able to help her.

He stood up slowly, tugging on her hand and urging her up as well. She followed the silent instructions, pushing herself out of the chair by what felt like willpower alone.

As soon as they were standing beside each other, however, he felt awkward standing there, holding her hand. He'd never been what you'd call demonstrative about his emotions, and the fact that he'd held her hand, or her arm, at all had been very much out of character for him. Really, the way he'd acted around Jane since they'd _met_ had been uncharacteristic for him. Suddenly feeling intensely uncomfortable, he slowly let his hand fall back to his side.

The effect was immediate. As soon as he let go of her hand, she felt her thoughts seem to rush in to fill what had felt like some sort of protective bubble around her that had kept everything just a few inches away for as long as he'd kept contact with her. Now that he'd let go, as ridiculous as she knew that it was, she felt almost as though she was suffocating on her thoughts, on her questions, on her doubts. At that moment, she felt as though there was an unlimited supply of uncertainly, and the weight of it was crushing her.

"Come on," Weller said beside her. While she could hear him, and his voice was soothing, and though when she looked back up at him she could _see_ him, she couldn't seem to make her feet obey her. She could only watch as he took a step and then, realizing that she wasn't moving, he stepped back towards her.

 _This is ridiculous_ , she told herself. _You just need to walk._ But it was as though all of her brain's processing power was already in use, and there was none left for the basic function of propelling one foot in front of the other. As she fought with herself over why she wasn't moving, Kurt stepped back to where she was stalled, laying his hand gently on her shoulder this time, just lightly enough that she could barely feel it.

"Jane?" he asked, her name a question this time. Once again, there was a surge that passed from his fingers into her, despite how lightly they rested on her shoulder, and she was able to nod slightly and then, as she'd been trying to, propel her feet in the direction of the elevator. It was a good start, anyway.

He'd noticed the change that came over her when his hand landed on her shoulder, and while he didn't understand why, he at least got the basic idea. She was obviously even more overwhelmed than he'd thought. It made sense when he thought about it, he supposed. After all, _he_ felt overcome by his emotions and he _knew_ who Taylor Shaw was. She'd just been given a match for an identity that she didn't remember whatsoever, so she literally didn't know _herself_. Not remembering other people was one thing, but yourself? He couldn't imagine.

 _All the more reason to get her out of here for some fresh air,_ he thought, keeping his hand lightly on her, slipping it down to the middle of her lower back as they walked. It was the kind of gesture that was barely like making contact at all. And yet, it must have been enough, because she continued forward beside him towards the elevator.

That protective bubble that had popped so quickly when he'd let go of her hand had pushed back out around her once again then, and she felt a warmth radiating outward from the spot on her lower back where his fingertips were just barely touching her.

 _Breathe,_ she told herself. _Keep walking._ It felt difficult to do even those two simple things at once, but somehow she managed, and in a few more seconds they were stepping into the elevator, the doors closing as they turned around to face the front. Jane slumped back against the back wall, Kurt's arm momentarily falling to his side once more. Looking back up at him, she saw something she didn't feel reflected back at her. _Calm._ Attempting to inhale it, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cool metal wall of the elevator.

 _I can do this_ , she told herself. Now all she needed to do was start believing it.


	35. The Only Other Option

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 _A/N: It feels strange posting this the day after episode 220, especially since this chapter happened SO long ago, but if you want to, just think of this as a flashback. I feel like I should apologize for the lack of kissing, however. For the time that this chapter took place, it just wouldn't have been appropriate (I know, some of you will tell me that Jane and Kurt kissing is_ _ **always**_ _appropriate… but at that time it truly wasn't!) The next thing I post will definitely be fluffy Jeller, I promise._

 **Season 1, between episodes 3 and 4**

As he stood in the elevator beside her, their eyes met. Hers were still full of panic, and he worked hard to project a calm he only partially felt.

Looking into her eyes, he felt himself tumbling farther into them than he'd expected. That was the best way he could describe the sensation, and all of a sudden he felt overwhelmed by emotion all over again. Judging from her face, she hadn't stopped being overwhelmed since Patterson had said those four words.

 _You are Taylor Shaw._

He got the feeling that if he'd been alone, his mind would have been reeling, but as it was, seeing Jane's panic, he automatically felt himself trying to project calm because it seemed to be what she needed. When she leaned her head back against the metallic wall of the elevator and closed her eyes, severing their eye contact, he felt as though he'd just snapped out of some kind of trance. It wasn't that he hadn't _liked_ the feeling, the connection. On the contrary, he found that he missed it now that it was gone. He continued to watch her, conscious of every slight movement that she made, until the familiar _ding_ of the elevator told him that they'd arrived on the floor where they needed to get off.

She heard the noise, which she knew meant that it was time to open her eyes and move, and yet… and couldn't bring herself to do either of those things. When a few seconds passed and she remained still, trapped inside her swirling thoughts, she felt a hand tentatively land on her arm.

"Jane, come on. This is our stop," he told her gently, a hint of affection in his voice that surprised her. For that split second, she just smiled, enjoying both the feeling of contact once again and the sound of his voice. She didn't know what it was about his voice that seemed to be able to cut through all the noise in her head, even when he was speaking as softly as he was just them. Finally opening her eyes, she saw the concern on his face, and nodded slightly, pushing herself up off of the back wall of the elevator, watching him hold the doors open with his left hand as, once she was clear of the wall and slowly moving forward, his right hand once again just barely landed against her lower back, almost not touching her, and yet, very definitely there.

Somehow she walked beside him, even though she felt numb all over. She had no idea where they were going, and she didn't try to guess. She certainly hadn't seen too much of the NYO yet, and she was fairly sure that she wouldn't even recognize the parts of it that she _had_ seen, she was so lost in her own head. It was all she could do to follow his lead and let herself be steered one way or another through the hallways that all seemed to look the same. They came to a door, which Weller pulled open to reveal rows of lockers, motioning her forward, the slight pressure on her back increasing, telling her to go in first. She looked at him for a split second, and his smile and the tilt of his head seemed to reinforce that yes, she should go through the door in front of him. Turning to look in front of her, she did just that, moving inside enough that he could join her and then directing her to the right. In a few more seconds he'd stopped by his locker, his hand finally dropping from her back so that he could undo the lock.

She sank down onto the bench that ran between the rows of lockers on either side, suddenly feeling weak without the jolt of energy that contact with him delivered. If the bench had been a little wider, she could probably have curled up and gone to sleep right there, she thought. It was an appealing thought, going to sleep… her body was exhausted from the stress of everything that had happened that day. And yet at the same time, her mind felt so wide awake from the noise level in her head, she wasn't sure she'd ever sleep again.

Weller looked down at her as he gathered his things from his locker, noticing that she was staring blankly off to one side, clearly overwhelmed. He watched her for a few seconds before realizing what he was doing, then closed his locker and cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. You ready to go?" he asked her.

The sound of him clearing his throat pulled her back out of her thoughts and she looked up at him. She heard the words he said, asking her if she was ready to go, but it took a few extra seconds for her to process them and formulate a response. Nodding slowly, she tried to push herself back up onto her feet, finding that she didn't even have the strength to do that much. Looking up at him and feeling pitiful, she took the hand that he offered her, smiling weakly but gratefully. Even with the help, once she was on her feet she felt as though it had just taken all of her effort just to get there, leaving her standing there without the power to make herself move. Feeling awkward just standing there with her hand in his, he released it, both of their hands dropping back to their sides.

Remembering that he'd asked her a question, she mumbled a much delayed, "Yeah," meaning that she was ready to go. He'd been looking at her with concern, and now his mouth curved into a small smile. Of course she didn't know it, but it actually counted as a big smile for Weller, one that the other agents on his team didn't necessarily get to see all that often. Starting back towards the door they'd come in through just a moment before, he once again gently propelled her forward with his hand just barely touching her lower back. He wasn't sure if it was just a coincidence, but he could've sworn he saw her smile just a little when his hand landed there.

 _Probably just a coincidence,_ he told himself as they made their way toward the door that opened onto the hallway. _She's exhausted and overwhelmed._

A few minutes later they found themselves in the parking garage, where she blinked rapidly under the florescent lights. Once again he held the door open for her, motioning her through first. After taking two steps into the garage she stopped, not having the slightest idea where to go, of course, turning to look for him over her shoulder.

It was such a helpless feeling, and yet it was a feeling that she'd had more or less ever since she'd emerged from that bag in Times Square. Yes, she now knew a little bit that she hadn't known then, but not very much. These past days had brought far more questions than answers. Even the answer to her identity – that she was Taylor Shaw – only left her with more questions. The list seemed never ending, and any answer that she did find would inevitably only lead to ten new questions. Knowing her name didn't help – it hadn't brought back anything else. No memories, no hints, not even a familiar _feeling_. On the contrary, it had only made her questions more focused.

 _What kind of kid had she been?_

 _Where was her family?_

 _What did she like and dislike?_

 _Taylor had disappeared at such a young age… Who would take a child so young? What had been done to her back then? Should she not_ _ **want**_ _to remember, even though she desperately did?_

 _Where had she been for twenty-five years?_

And the biggest ones – or some of the biggest, anyway…

 _How had she lost her entire memory?_

 _Why was she covered in tattoos?_

 _How had she ended up in that bag in Times Square? Someone had done this to her… but_ _ **who**_ _?_

Her head was beginning to ache, and she didn't realize that she'd been staring absently into space for more than a few seconds until Weller's voice cut through her thoughts once again.

"Jane," he said, and she could hear the concern, even in just that one word. Looking back at him, she was startled at the jolt she felt when their eyes met. It wasn't something she knew how to explain. The only way she could describe it was that the look on his face matched the way she felt inside, and that surprising familiarity was soothing. She swallowed hard, feeling too many things at once. Relieved. Frightened. Hopeful. Anxious. And for some reason… suddenly breathless. She remembered how exhausted she felt all over again, wondering if she would be able to hold herself up, or if she would just sink to the floor of the parking garage where she stood.

He stood and watched her for a few seconds, transfixed. Even though it had been a little while since Patterson had given them the news now, for a second it hit him yet _again_. It was proving impossible to wrap his mind around this, or to even for sentences, really. But he only needed one word.

 _Taylor._

Once you've searched for someone for twenty-five years, how do you bend your mind around the fact that you've actually found them? Finding her was all he'd wanted since he was ten years old, and there she was in front of him. What was the appropriate emotion at a time like this? He was pretty sure that he was feeling all of them at once.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to call her Taylor. As much as it meant to him to be told that after all those years of heartache, he'd found his childhood friend… Taylor had always been five years old in his mind. He'd only just met Jane a few days ago, but to him, that was her name. _Jane._ Never mind that he _knew_ that the FBI had _given_ her that name, that the odds that her real name was Jane would have been almost zero. It was one name in a million. Still, none of that mattered. It felt strange to call her as anything other than Jane, even _knowing_ that she was Taylor.

He wondered how _Jane_ felt about being called Jane. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd say that being Taylor hadn't really cleared things up for her. At that moment, she looked really and truly freaked out, and he decided that it was probably better to let her keep on being Jane, at least until she told him otherwise. That was when he realized that she was lost in thought, her face looking stricken, and that he'd gotten lost in his own thoughts as well, standing there somewhat mesmerized by her.

 _You are Taylor Shaw._ Patterson's words echoed through his head again once more, but he forced himself back to reality.

"Come on," he said quietly, breaking the silence and pulling them both back to the present, "it's not too much farther."

Her eyes moved to his face, and a small, grateful expression appeared on her lips. It wasn't quite a smile, exactly… more the look of a drowning woman grabbing onto a flotation device – there was desperation in her pained look. It didn't dissipate completely, but it did lessen when she looked at him.

For a second, he almost forgot to breathe.

Reminding himself to turn and walk toward the car, his hand once again moved behind her. It was an instinctive gesture, one that he didn't even consider. He'd used it on other occasions, and not just with Jane… but this felt different somehow. He didn't know why he thought of that, but once he had it became glaringly obvious in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he'd used the gesture more with Jane than he had even compared with women that he'd known for far longer, or with whom he'd had far closer relationships. He made a mental note to pay closer attention to what he was doing, letting his hand fall back to his side as they approached his black SUV.

She glanced over her shoulder at him when she felt his hand leave her back, a confirmation that he was still there since there was no longer even that slight contact between them.

His eyes were on her as soon as she turned her head toward him. Truth be told, his eyes had been on her before that, too. Perhaps not surprisingly, he had even more trouble looking away from her now than he had at first. It was as though every second in which he wasn't directing his mind toward a particular task, it fell back to attempting to process the idea that he'd found Taylor.

After clicking the keyfab, he reached past her and opened the car door as she stood there looking down awkwardly for a second, just waiting. "Thanks," she mumbled as she climbed up, and was surprised when she looked up a few seconds later, now settled in her seat, and he was still standing there, ready to close the door for her as well. She smiled at him, then quickly looked down, unsure what exactly was going on.

A few seconds later her door was closed with a bang that echoed in the stillness of the garage, and when she glanced up again, he was walking around the front of the car. Her eyes tracked him through the windshield, a faint smile on her lips despite the feeling of tension that was sprinkled with everything else she was feeling – none of which she could really identify. Her head leaned back against the seat behind her, and a feeling of tiredness suddenly threatened to swallow her as her eyes fell closed. She couldn't quite decide if it was more physical or mental tiredness, or if it was both.

Climbing into his seat, his eyes immediately went to Jane. Her head was leaned back, her face turned slightly in his direction, and for a second he wondered if she had fallen asleep that quickly. Only a second later, however, her eyes popped open and they found themselves suddenly looking at each other once more. As he watched, he saw the anxiety on her face lessen slightly as she looked at him, a weak smile forming on her face. He had to fight the urge to reach for her, knowing that it wasn't appropriate, despite how insistently the urge pulled at him.

Instead, he simply smiled back at her. There was something about Jane that made it impossible _not_ to smile at her.

 _It's because she's not just anyone. She's Taylor,_ his mind reminded him as if it should have been obvious.

 _Maybe_ , he reluctantly conceded. Was that what it was? Or was there more?

Glancing behind them, he reversed the car out of the parking space and then navigated through the garage to the exit, then out onto the streets. It was still light outside, though the sun must have just set. Everything had the glow that comes when the light softens, that perfect, faint glow that makes everyone and everything look so photogenic. It wasn't referred to as the _Golden Hour_ for nothing. Glancing back at Jane as he checked to see that the traffic was clear at the stop sign at the next corner, he found that she was even more mesmerizing in this light.

 _Eyes on the road, Weller,_ the voice in his head reminded him. With great effort, he pulled his eyes from Jane yet again. This was going to make driving a little more difficult.

 _Taylor,_ he kept hearing in his head. _She's really here._

Meanwhile, in the seat beside him, Jane was fighting off exhaustion. _Taylor Shaw_ , her mind kept repeating, as it had been since Patterson had told them the news. Of course, it didn't mean very much to her, but it did mean something. It meant that she had an identity. Well, maybe not a whole identity, since that implied that _she_ knew something about this person she'd been told that she was. But at least she had a name… For whatever good that did her. The fact that Kurt Weller's name was on her back… well, that was both comforting and frightening. People just didn't walk around with stranger's names on their backs in permanent ink. At least, as far as she knew, they didn't.

He seemed to know where they were going, and she didn't question it. After all, she only knew of a total of, what? Four places, including the FBI? Since they'd just left there, that left three. It didn't even make sense to her to ask where they were going, and she didn't have the energy anyway. Suddenly feeling self-conscious about the fact that he kept looking over at her, she turned to look out the window to her right. The colors were mesmerizing – there seemed to be neon signs everywhere, and as her eyelids grew heavy again, the colors ran closer and closer together until her eyes closed against her will. She simply had no say as the movement of the car, despite the stop and go nature of traffic at that hour, quickly rocked her to sleep.

Looking over at her shortly thereafter, Weller couldn't help but smile. The lines of tension were still visible in her face, but they had softened, and this time she really did appear to be asleep. She seemed to be making a habit of falling asleep in his car. He smiled at the thought at first, but then stopped abruptly, wondering what that meant for how she was sleeping at night at her safe house. Yes, what she was going through was overwhelming, but if she was this tired this often, that didn't say much for how her nights were going.

 _You can't really blame her,_ the voice in his head interjected. _How would_ _ **you**_ _be sleeping, if you were her?_ He had to admit that that was a valid point. _Besides, she must feel safe with you, or it seems doubtful that she'd let herself sleep like this,_ the voice added.

 _Or she's just that exhausted. Or, it just means that I'm really boring,_ he interjected in his head.

If the voice in his head had its own pair of eyes, its tone implied that they would have been rolling. _Have you seen the way she looks at you?_ it demanded. _You're anything but boring to her, and you know it._ He liked to believe that was true, even though the thought sent warning bells though the back of his mind. She was a victim, after all… or an asset… In any case, he was the lead agent on her case. He was supposed to be professional.

 _She's_ _ **Taylor**_ _,_ the voice reminded him. _There is a zero percent chance of you treating her case like any other case._ While he could acknowledge that this was true, he also believed with staunch determination that that didn't make him unfit to be lead agent. If anything, it made it absolutely necessary to remain in charge of her case. After all, no one else would possibly do an acceptable job of protecting her and of finding out the truth.

He ignored a nagging sensation in the back of his mind on the subject that questioned whether this absolute certainty he felt wasn't the very sign that he was unfit to lead this case. That _obviously_ didn't apply to him on this case.

 _Eyes on the road, please,_ the voice in his head reminded him, and he realized that his gaze had lingered just a little too long on a sleeping Jane.

The traffic light in front of him had turned green, so he followed the flow of traffic another few blocks, pulling up to the curb in front of a deli that he'd stopped at many times before on his way home from work. Not wanting to disturb her, he made sure to open his door as quietly as possible, pushing the lock button on the inside of his door and then closing it only just hard enough to make sure that the lock could engage.

Once he was on the sidewalk, he stopped and looked at her through the passenger side window, which she was leaning against slightly. Again, he had to remind himself to turn around and walk away, since that was the only way to get what he'd stopped for – as much as he hated the idea of letting her out of his sight for even a second just then.

 _Isn't that how I lost her in the first place?_ he asked himself. The thought felt like a blow to the stomach, and he had to shift his weight, putting out his hands as if he thought he was going to fall down before regaining his balance.

The car that contained her security detail had pulled up behind them, he noticed, so he knew that he really didn't have to worry, but he couldn't help it.

 _The doors are locked. This is a safe part of town. She's not going to just run away, and her detail will be here for the two minutes you're in the store,_ he told himself. _Most importantly, she's not five years old anymore. And in case you've forgotten, she's not exactly helpless when it comes to self-defense._ Still, as he walked across the sidewalk to the small deli, glancing back over his shoulder, he felt as though he was abandoning her.

 _Just get your food and come back out here, then,_ the voice in his head told him impatiently. Knowing that that was the only option besides not picking up food at all, which seemed impractical, he finally forced himself to tear his eyes away from her and duck through the doorway.

Only a minute later, Jane began to stir. There was something different, her mind knew, but not more than that. For a second, even before she had opened her eyes, she struggled to remember where she was, panic overtaking her. However, opening her eyes helped, because she recognized her immediate surroundings as Weller's car, even though she was disappointed not to see _him_ anywhere nearby. Glancing around at the area outside of the car, she noticed that they were parked in front of a small deli. From the setting sun she gathered that it was around dinner time, so she hazarded a guess that he'd stepped inside to pick up something to eat.

Her momentary panic abated as she watched the people coming and going on the sidewalk outside her window with interest. So many people, all moving with determination around each other. Some looked happy, chatting animatedly with the person beside them, while others moved along more solemnly on their own. The one thing they all had in common was that they all clearly had somewhere to go, busy lives to get on with. And then there she was, sitting off to the side, perfectly still, just watching them. It seemed absolutely fitting.

She felt herself shiver, a feeling of discomfort that she couldn't have articulated if she'd tried suddenly coming over her. Suddenly, the people outside were moving too quickly, and she had to look away.

 _And what do I have?_ she wondered sadly. _An empty safe house. A body covered in cryptic tattoos, which make me look like some kind of freak. A security detail. Speaking of which, where are they?_ She craned her neck and looked around, finding a dark colored sedan just behind Kurt's SUV with two men in the front seat dressed suspiciously like FBI agents. She couldn't tell if she recognized either of them from where she was, but they both looked exactly nondescript enough.

As she turned back around in her seat, having momentarily distracted herself, she came back to contemplating what little she had.

 _You have a name now,_ the voice in her head reminded her. _Taylor Shaw. So you have more than you had this morning._

 _I don't feel like Taylor Shaw,_ she replied. _Taylor's a girl that Agent Weller used to know. She's even more of a stranger to me that_ _ **I**_ _am._

 _Give it time,_ the voice coaxed her soothingly. _It's going to get better_.

She couldn't help but sigh then, watching the people crisscross in front of her once again and suddenly feeling adrift in a sea of movement. Allowing her eyes to unfocus, she stared out the window but was no longer taking in the scene in front of her, and that was when Weller emerged from the deli, plastic bag in hand.

The first thing he focused on as he exited the door of the deli was his own car, straining to see Jane in the window through the crowd. There she was, right where he'd left her, as was the car behind his, where her detail sat surveying the scene. He noticed that she'd woken up, and he hoped it hadn't been too startling to wake up in a strange place by herself.

Weaving his way across the crowd on the sidewalk, he noticed that she was staring into space. It wasn't too much of a surprise, then, when he opened the driver's side door and climbed into the car to find her looking at him with a slightly startled expression.

"Hey, sorry to disappear on you for a few minutes," he told her. "I got us something to eat."

Feeling even more relief than she'd expected that he was there again, she couldn't help but smile. "That's okay. I was a little confused at first, but I figured that was what happened." Her eyes flicked back to the crowds on the sidewalk. "It's busy out there," she observed.

"Lots of people on their way home at once," he replied. There was something about the look on her face that seemed concerned, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Rush hour on the streets and the sidewalks, too." Watching as she nodded distractedly but kept staring outside with a slight frown, he felt as though he should change the subject, despite not knowing quite _why._

"Ready?" he asked her, attempting to draw her attention back to him. He was rewarded by her attention, and if he didn't know better, he would have said that she looked at him gratefully when she turned to look at him again. Still, she wasn't quite smiling.

With a shrug, she replied as lightly as she could, though she felt anything but. "Whenever you are."

 _What else do I have to do in the next… rest of my life?_ she added in her head, feeling more than a twinge of sadness.

Her eyes darted back to the front windshield as she tried to focus on the cars in front of her rather than the people on the sidewalk who made her feel so anxious, or the man behind her who was so intently focused on her.

 _He's looking at me like that because Patterson said I was Taylor,_ she thought. _But how can I be Taylor? I don't know her. How can you_ _ **be**_ _someone you don't even_ _ **know**_ _?_

 _You are Taylor Shaw_. Agent Patterson's words echoed in her head.

 _Why does it almost feel worse to have a name than_ _ **not**_ _to have a name?_ she wondered.

 _Probably because Weller knows – knew – Taylor Shaw so well,_ her mind suggested. _After all, it's more than a little disconcerting not to know_ _ **yourself**_ _, especially when you're around someone who knew did._

She was grateful to him for everything he was doing for her, but now that they knew that she was the girl he'd been searching for… he was looking at her with such familiarity, it made her a little uncomfortable. Of course, it's not as though the looks he gave her were completely unpleasant. On the contrary, there had been a connection between them from the beginning – and now she knew why. Or at least, that was probably why. It made her a little sad, though, because if she couldn't be the Taylor he remembered – which _obviously_ , she couldn't… what then?

 _Maybe it's just me,_ she wondered. _Maybe he's looking at me exactly the same way and I'm just being overly sensitive._

That thought was disconcerting as well, because it meant that it was all in her head. Basically, no matter how she thought about it, she didn't feel better. The more she thought, the tenser she got it. Gritting her teeth, she tried to simply watch the traffic ahead of them and not think. Maybe if she was lucky, she'd fall back to sleep.

Weller glanced at her more than he should have while driving, but he simply couldn't help himself. She seemed distracted, and not as relaxed as she had been earlier. Not that she'd really been comfortable at any point, but she seemed less so now. Since he couldn't think of anything to say, they simply rode in silence. After all, they both had so much to think about, and at that moment it didn't seem necessary to add to the noise in his head.

Finally, he pulled the car to a stop along the curb once again. It was less crowded here, she noticed. More residential. "I live down the street," he said, "but I like to come here to think, or when I just need to get out of my apartment." Glancing out her window, she saw a small park a little farther down the block, and she realized that that was their destination. He was already out of the car as she slowly unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, glancing up to see the same car behind them that she'd seen earlier, outside the deli.

He stood and waited for her on the sidewalk, holding the plastic bag from the deli, watching her move slowly and deliberately. Inside, he felt a little bit giddy. It was unbelievable that Taylor had been brought back to him, and he really couldn't get it through his head. He kept remembering it and then getting excited all over again. It was much harder for her to internalize, he knew, since she didn't remember being Taylor, so he tried not to let his excitement show through too much. After all, that would have undoubtedly been overwhelming for her, and she was overwhelmed enough. Still… it was impossible not to smile just a little more. The impossible had happened.

And then he looked into her eyes, and was surprised, almost stunned, by the sadness he saw there.

 _Well, how would you feel,_ he asked himself, _if it was you that this was happening to? If you had been robbed of every one of your memories._

 _That could be a blessing,_ he reasoned, feeling the sting of a past that he didn't usually let himself think about.

 _You think so because you remember,_ the voice in his head countered. _But if you didn't_ _ **know**_ _all of those things that you wish you didn't, you wouldn't know that that was a blessing. You'd feel as lost as she looks._

 _I suppose,_ he conceded as they approached the park. With a start he realized that his hand was just barely on her back yet again, even though he had no memory of putting it there. He had been trying to wrap his head around what it all meant for Taylor. _Jane._

Glancing at her again, he saw that she was looking ahead, but mostly at the ground, appearing to concentrate hard. He sympathized with her so very much, but he didn't know what he could do beyond what he and the team were already doing. They would get to the bottom of it, but it was like he'd told her – it was going to take time. That was probably one of the hardest things to deal with – besides the whole memory being erased thing, of course.

When he stopped at a bench along the main path through the park, she was relieved to have the chance to sit down again. Tiredness flooded through her veins and traveled to every part of her body as she was finally able to stop forcing herself to move. It was frustrating because she knew that when she finally tried to sleep, later, she would probably just lie awake with questions swirling through her mind.

He sat down beside her, leaving a small space. He had the urge to keep her close, but at the same time was very conscious of the fact that even though she wasn't a stranger, she _was._ Actually, to be more accurate, _he_ was more of a stranger to her than she was to him. Still, twenty-five years apart still made them both practically strangers, he tried to remind himself, and it wouldn't do him any good to make her uncomfortable.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her. It seemed to take her a minute to pull herself out of her thoughts before she looked at him and shook her head.

"No," she replied apologetically. "Not right now." She even felt guilty about not being hungry. _What exactly is wrong with me?_ she wondered.

 _You mean_ _ **besides**_ _having had your memory erased, your body covered in tattoos and now apparently being the long lost childhood friend of the man whose name is tattooed on your back?_ she asked herself.

 _Okay, fine, that's enough,_ the voice in her head conceded. _You have a right to feel… uncomfortable._

 _Uncomfortable?_ she repeated incredulously in her head. _I think this goes a little beyond uncomfortable._

"That's okay," he replied with a shrug, watching her carefully.

Those two words stirred her back out of her thoughts again, and she forced herself to smile at him, hoping to convey gratitude. After all, as painfully messed up as it all was, it certainly wasn't his fault. If anything, it was quite the opposite. She was the one bringing upheaval into _his_ life, and he was being nothing but kind to her.

Her smile was small and, he thought, sad, but even so, he was surprised at the impact it had on him. He felt an ache in his chest and wished that he could do something to alleviate the stress and heartache that she as obviously feeling.

 _You are doing something_ , he reminded himself.

 _Look at her and tell me that what I'm doing is enough,_ he countered. His mission, through everything, had always been finding Taylor. Now that he had, his mission had shifted. Now he had to not only find out what had happened to her – who had done it, and why – but perhaps even more importantly, he had to help her adjust. Not just that, he had to stop her from looking so _sad._ His heart simply couldn't take the broken look on her face.

 _You are Taylor Shaw_. Patterson's words floated through his head once more, and he smiled at her. It was all so complicated, and yet, the simplest part of it was so easy to overlook.

She was Taylor, and she was sitting on the bench beside him.

As many thoughts as were flying through her head, including the ridiculousness of apologizing for not being hungry, she watched as he smiled at her. She was surprised, then, at how his smile immediately quieted the rest of the noise in her head. As she focused on him, the rest of her thoughts simply faded to background noise, and she felt like it might somehow all be okay.

 _It's only because he wants you to be Taylor,_ she thought warily in the back of her mind. _When he realizes you can't, it's all going to go away. All of it._

 _Maybe,_ she conceded, her smile dimming just a fraction.

And yet she couldn't help by slightly mesmerized by his smile. Just then, she needed something to cling to so that her thoughts didn't drag her under, and his smile was exactly the life raft she needed. Maybe he would withdraw it later, when he realized that she couldn't be who he wanted her to be, but she would simply have to deal with that later. For the time being, she would accept his help gratefully.

The only other option was to drown, after all.

And so they sat on the bench in the park at the end of Weller's street. Eventually they did eat, Jane eating a small piece of both a turkey sub and a tuna sandwich, at Weller's insistence, so that she could taste two different things and continue to discover more of her likes and dislikes.

By the time it was late enough that they were forced to agree that it was time to go, her eyes seemed less haunted. As he sat and looked into them for a few extra seconds before they stood up, he couldn't help but think that that was, perhaps, his biggest accomplishment of the day.

Never mind that he had been working for the FBI for many years, solving hundreds of cases involving dangerous criminals. It was in that second, sitting on a bench beside Jane and watching her slowly relax and even smile a little bit, that he felt like he'd done something more important than anything else he'd done in the past twenty-five years.

Seeing the light creep slowly back into Jane's eyes, he knew. He didn't know quite _what_ he knew… he just knew.


	36. More Than You Thought You Would

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 _A/N: Happy season finale day! Here's a blast from the past to get you excited while we wait through the last LONG hours._

 **Season 1, between episodes 3 and 4**

"If I fall asleep again, I'm sorry," Jane told him as they got back into his car. She wished that he wasn't about to drive her back to her safe house, but knew that it was inevitable. It was late, after all, and he'd already given up his whole evening to keep her company. It would be ungrateful of her if she didn't acknowledge that. If only she could return the favor by giving him the satisfaction of remembering being Taylor, of being the girl that he'd lost. Alas, it felt like that was never going to happen, and despite what the DNA had said and the fact that she'd made it _clear_ that she had no memory of being Taylor, she felt like a fraud.

Weller smiled at her as he buckled his seatbelt. "It does seem to be becoming a habit," he observed. "But that's okay, I don't mind. As long as that's not your way of telling me I'm really boring, or something…" His tone was joking, and he didn't really _think_ that she thought that, but after the words left his lips, he wondered if he would end up regretting them.

But Jane was quick to reply, shaking her head emphatically. "Not _at all,_ " she assured him. She hoped that he didn't really think that… because she was anything but bored. "I'm just…" There was a pause in her sentence necessitated by a large yawn escaping her. "…so overwhelmed, I guess."

Chuckling, Weller nodded. "Good to hear," he said, then added quickly, "Not that I want you to be overwhelmed, of course." He started the car and pulled out of the parking space, while Jane continued to watch him, smiling at the concern that his last sentence had shown. Her smile faded, however, as reality crept back to the forefront of her mind. After all, his smile couldn't have its hypnotic effect on her when he wasn't looking at her, but looking forward when he was driving was something of a necessity. Turning to look out the window to her right, she felt the darkness outside the car seem to press in around her.

She was quiet for a few minutes, and when he glanced at her again, he saw her staring pensively out of the passenger window. She had a lot to think about, he knew. He wished he could somehow help her feel the elation that he did about having found her. Then again, he supposed that after having your entire body tattooed the way hers had been, and her memory erased, it would be hard _not_ to focus on the more negative aspects of the situation, no matter what may have been going right in your life.

"Do you really think I'm Taylor?" she asked, looking back over at him. Her expression was tight, and the question was clearly bothering her – understandably, he thought.

"I think that Patterson is _very_ good at her job, so if she says that you're Taylor, then I don't see how you couldn't be," he answered slowly, wishing that he could say something that would allay the doubts that were written all over her face. "But then again, I thought you were Taylor even before she did that test. And yes, I know that it's supposed to be impossible to know something like that for sure without doing a test, or so I have been _told_ by well-meaning coworkers," he paused to roll his eyes slightly and the memory of the people who had told him just that. That it was impossible. "But I don't know…" he shook his head, shrugging slightly. "I just _knew._ "

Nodding absently in his direction, not sure what else to say, she turned and looked back out into the darkness. She didn't doubt the sincerity of his answer, but what did it mean? How had he been able to be so sure? She wondered it was like to be that certain of _anything_.

 _You know one thing,_ the voice in her head told her, _that he cares about Taylor._

She certainly couldn't argue with that fact. Of course, that didn't help much. In a way, it just made her feel worse. After all, she didn't know how to be Taylor, didn't know anything about her… And yet every time he looked at her now, it was pretty clear that he was seeing _her_ – Taylor – in other words, he was seeing someone who wasn't there. But _she_ wasn't Taylor, even if she _had_ been once upon a time. They'd called her Jane, and even though she knew it wasn't really her name, she'd almost gotten used to it already. She certainly felt more like Jane than she did Taylor, and she was grateful that at least he wasn't _calling_ her Taylor.

He'd meant his words to be reassuring, but he could see from her reaction that they hadn't had the desired effect on Jane.

 _How is she_ _ **supposed**_ _to feel?_ he asked himself. _You're telling her she's someone she has no memory of, and you're fairly intense about it. She doesn't remember that person, much less_ _ **being**_ _that person, and everything is a blur. She's covered in tattoos –_ _ **covered**_ _– to the point that she has every right to feel completely violated. It's going to take her a while._

He promised himself that he would make a conscious effort to dwell less on his relief of finding Taylor and more on Jane's reality. After all, five year old Taylor didn't need his help, but the woman sitting beside him, Taylor or not Taylor, certainly did.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, neither quite knowing what to say, and both caught up in their own thoughts. She hadn't fallen asleep, but she was so distracted that it came as a surprise when Weller pulled open her door for her. There he was, suddenly standing in front of her and peering at her with a slightly worried look on his face. She did her best to smile weakly, even though she didn't feel the gesture, but she got the feeling that he could see though it and knew that it wasn't genuine.

 _What? You think he can read your mind?_ she asked herself sarcastically.

 _Well no,_ she replied somewhat defensively in her head, _he just seems to…_ _ **know**_ _._

However, now that he was there in front of her, she couldn't help but focus on him. Looking into his eyes once again, she felt so many things at once – too many to even identify them – but at least it was a welcome distraction from the chaos inside her head. After all, it was next to impossible to think about _anything_ when he was looking at her so intensely.

He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but he felt like he'd already asked her that a thousand times too many. Besides, the desperately lost look on her face answered the question for her. She was not okay, and it made his chest ache. He hoped that there was something he could do to change that. But _what_?

Pulling herself slowly out of the car, she kept her eyes on his, feeling the connection give her the strength to move, despite the fact that they weren't smiling at each other. The look could be better described as intense concentration. When she finally stood on the sidewalk beside him, he closed the car door and they walked to the door side by side. There was a muffled sound behind them, and they both turned around quickly to see that a familiar car had pulled up behind his. It was her security detail, of course. Weller nodded at them, and the two continued toward her front door, Jane digging in her pockets for the keys.

She wondered why he was walking her to the door, but she didn't have any complaints. After all, his presence was basically what was propelling her forward. Pulling out her keys, she glanced up at him beside her. "Thank you," she told him sincerely. "You didn't have to do any of this."

He just shrugged, not sure what to say. Things had changed dramatically even in the short time that he'd known her. In some ways, her being Taylor changed nothing, and in others… it felt like it changed everything. Though he liked to think that he wouldn't have done things differently… maybe he would have just _felt_ differently, but acted the same. Of course, it was impossible to know for sure.

Finally, he made himself find the right words... or at least, _some_ words. "I want to help, Jane." As his words sank in, he noticed the hint of a smile on her face, driving away the shadow that had fallen over it. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to just come in for a second, so I can be sure everything is clear inside…" Her detail would have done that, of course, but they'd stayed in the car because he was there, and he'd by lying if he didn't admit that he wouldn't be able to relax unless he checked everything himself. He knew that the agents on her detail were perfectly competent, but this was too important – _she_ was too important. Because what if he _didn't_ check, and then something else happened… he would never forgive himself.

"Okay," she replied quietly as she turned the key in the lock. She didn't mind at all. Quite the opposite, actually. It would give her a little more piece of mind to have him check everything out as well. Besides, that gave her an extra few minutes before she was there alone with her demons.

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside and slowly began to take off her jacket as she watched him step past her. He'd unconsciously held out his arm to signal her to stay where she was, and he moved silently through the entire place, quickly looking into the each corner and closet to be sure that no danger was lurking anywhere. Finally satisfied, he returned to find Jane standing and waiting in the entryway.

He knew that she probably thought that he was overreacting, but as far as he was concerned, that was impossible. She'd been kidnapped as a child, which had set so many events in motion for both of them in the first place, and someone – not just someone, but someone who was just as much of a ghost as she was – had broken into her first FBI safe house almost as soon as she'd moved in. There was no longer any such thing as _too safe_.

She waited for him, relatively sure that there was no danger but content to let him check anyway. While she hated to feel so vulnerable, but unfortunately that was how she'd spent almost every moment that she could remember so far. In another few minutes he would leave her there alone, and even though she knew that she had no right to, she dreaded the time when he would leave. He'd already been so good to her, more than he should have been expected to be…

 _Because you're Taylor_ , her mind finished for her.

So why did that sound like a criticism to her, or something that she was being sentenced to?

 _Because you have no idea how to be Taylor, and because it's obvious how much it means to him that you are exactly that,_ the voice replied matter-of-factly.

She felt tension building in her, and tried her best not to clench her fists as she waited for him to make it back to where she stood. When he walked back into the entry looking satisfied that nothing was amiss, she did her best to take a breath and focus on the fact that he was smiling at her, and not on the fact that he was going to be leaving momentarily.

With a little extra effort on Jane's part, they both smiled at each other awkwardly, and he stopped what he felt was a reasonable distance away from her. A _professional_ distance… even though he would have liked to be just a little closer. It was still hard to believe that all this was real, that _she_ was real. He had the urge to reach out for her, even just to put his hand on her arm, the way he had when they'd found out that she was Taylor. It was going to be a struggle to keep up the pretense of being objective, he could see that already. He _knew_ that he wasn't quite objective.

"The place is clear," he told her. She nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. It had been an incredibly emotional day for both of them, and neither of them could really think of anything more to say. At the same time, neither of them really wanted to say goodbye. But it was late already, he knew, because it had been after 9:00 when they'd left the park a little while before.

"You should get some sleep," he told her, and he couldn't help but notice the look that moved across her face almost immediately. "I should, too," he added. "Neither of us have exactly had an easy last few days…"

She tried to chuckle and the size of the understatement in his sentence, but somehow the noise came out sounding hollow. "Yeah," she managed. "Thanks again... for everything." Feeling her composure breaking, she cursed herself for the feeling of weakness. But when he smiled at her, she felt the nervous energy dissipate slightly.

 _Professional distance be damned,_ he thought, not hesitating any longer. He stepped towards her, stopping what he felt was a much more comfortable distance away. He looked down at her for a few seconds before closing the rest of the remaining distance between them slowly, wrapping her in an only _slightly_ awkward hug. As surprised and hesitant as she felt, at the same time the contact was both a relief and once again the source of what felt like an electrical charge all at once.

As much as she liked the feeling, it bothered her. After all, she reminded herself, they had a connection because of their history – the one he remembered and she didn't. He felt something for her because he remembered Taylor. As far as she knew, she was _never_ going to remember being Taylor, which made her both incredibly frustrated and very sad – for both him and for herself. What he was expecting of her was impossible, and it was only a matter of time before he realized it. And then what? What made it worse was that until then, she would only continue to disappoint him.

She thought back to before she'd known that she was Taylor, to the feeling she'd gotten from looking into his eyes – from the connection between them. She had thought that it had something to do with _her_. And while maybe logic would argue that it _had_ been about her, really, it hadn't. He was connected to a girl of whom she had no memory. Physically she may have been the same person, but in reality… in reality it seemed more and more like that person – Taylor Shaw – was just gone, and she was here taking her place, somehow pretending to be her even though she'd never claimed that she was.

Trying to block out her thoughts, she accepted the hug, tentatively hugging him back. After all, no matter how misplaced his feelings towards her might be, she desperately needed this – his support, this contact… she would just have to take what she could get. Eventually he would figure out that she wasn't the girl he remembered, but for that moment… well, at that moment she chose to hold on to him – both literally and figuratively.

"It's going to be okay," he mumbled against her shoulder, feeling her breathing unevenly and, if he wasn't mistaken, shaking just a little bit. Really, all things considered, she was being amazingly strong. In her shoes, he couldn't imagine what he would have done. She'd leaned her head against him, and he felt her nod, though she didn't say anything. After what felt not nearly long enough, but the longest he could hold onto her without making things awkward, he slowly loosened his grip on her and, a second later, felt her grip on him loosening as well. As their arms fell from around each other and back to their sides, he reluctantly stepped back and looked down at her.

"I'll see you in a few hours," he told her, smiling tiredly. It was hard _not_ to smile, looking into her eyes. "Bright and early."

Her head bobbed slightly in agreement, though no sounds would come out of her mouth.

"You have a session with Dr. Borden in the morning, right?" he asked. "First thing?"

"Yeah," she managed. "8:00, I think?"

"That sounds right to me," he told her, consulting his phone, then nodded. "Yep, 8:00," he confirmed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I'm always in the office long before that anyway." After a pause, during which he reminded himself that he did actually have to leave, he added, "I'll see you in the morning, Jane."

It was both calming and slightly unnerving the way he kept his eyes on her so steadily, not looking away, and she felt her heart beat faster. Or maybe she was simply panicking because he was about to leave her alone again. It could have been either one, really. She hoped desperately that she could avoid having a panic attack this time, the way she had after he'd left her there the first night. Just the thought of herself, lying on the floor and feeling so much emotional pain, was enough to make her cringe.

Something – a shadow of a thought – moved across her face, he noticed, but it was gone before he could attempt to identify it.

"Good night," she whispered as casually as she could, even as the anxiety rose inside her. Watching helplessly as he stepped toward the door, she forced herself to smile – or at least to try – stepping toward the doorway as he slowly let himself back out.

He glanced over his shoulder as he started across the sidewalk, allowing himself that one look to assure him that he hadn't just imagined the whole thing, the whole day, and that she was actually perfectly fine, despite how badly he didn't want to leave her side. He wished there was some way he could assure himself that she would be safe, but after everything he couldn't help but think that he'd never be completely confident in her safety if he wasn't there to ensure it himself. He couldn't know, of course, just how right this feeling of his would prove to be going forward.

 _At least you know that she can defend herself_ , the voice in his head reminded him. He couldn't deny that this was true, but it was a small consolation.

Climbing back into his car, he glanced up to find that Jane was just closing the door. He was torn between being glad that she was inside safely and disappointed that he could no longer see her. After all, only when she was in his sight could he be confident that he was alright. However, the fact that she was no longer visible made it easier for him to drive away. Not easy, but _easier_.

Jane managed to make it to bed only a few minutes later, but lay awake long after that. No matter how much she tried to shut off her mind, or how desperately her body pleaded that it was exhausted, her brain continued to replay the day's events. _You are Taylor Shaw,_ Patterson told her over and over. Weller's expression flashed before her eyes, along with a look of shock, relief and elation. Then her stomach would drop, because she simply couldn't share those feelings, and she felt guilty for it. She would somehow manage to calm herself down, and then inevitably the cycle would begin again. Finally, not long before dawn, she finally slipped into a short, fitful sleep.

Across town, Weller had an equally difficult time falling asleep. _You are Taylor Shaw_ , he heard Patterson say, time and time again. Over and over, he felt the shock wash over him. Relief was there as well, but after twenty-five years of disappointment, of feeling like a failure because he hadn't protected her from some unseen force – though he'd always felt that somehow, his father had been responsible – it was impossible to feel _only_ relief. He'd spent too many years steeling himself against the pain of losing her, and against the guilt that came with knowing, no matter how many times people told him otherwise, that it _had_ been his fault. The guilt had been a companion for so long, he almost didn't remember what it was like to live without it.

Tossing and turning, he, like Jane, eventually did fall asleep, only to be awoken early by his own internal clock just as early as always, after only a few hours of sleep. It was time to face another day of trying to figure out what had happened to Jane. The thought of seeing her helped him wake up, despite his exhaustion. After all, even without him realizing it, his life had suddenly taken on a new purpose. He promised himself that this time, unlike when he was ten years old, he would _not_ fail again. This time he would not fail _her_ again.

XXX

It was barely light outside when Weller stepped off the elevator into the familiar bullpen area where he spent so much of his time. There wasn't another soul around, of course, just the soft hum of the florescent lights. He'd been in the office both very early and very late plenty of times over the years, and he knew just how rare it was to find it completely empty. At his desk, he turned on his computer and flipped through the ever growing Jane Doe case file, trying not to let himself be distracted by the pictures of her tattoos. His brain wasn't processing information fast enough, however, despite the large coffee that he'd brought with him and had been guzzling quickly in an attempt to compensate for his lack of sleep.

Deciding that he needed to walk for a few minutes to clear his head, he stood up and strode down one of the long corridors that led away from the bullpen. He hadn't had a particular destination in mind, so he was surprised when he found himself approaching the waiting area outside Dr. Borden's office. He knew where it was, of course, he simply hadn't paid attention to which hallway he'd taken, as distracted as his brain was. That surprise paled in comparison to the next one, however, because as he neared the sitting area he saw Jane, sitting on one of the couches, hunched forward, her head in her hands, the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes, and her elbows digging into her knees. She sat perfectly still, and if not for the fact that he was pretty sure no one could remain upright that way unless they were awake, he would have thought that she was asleep.

His pace slowed but he continued toward her, realizing that he should probably give her some indication of his presence, lest he startle her. Considering her reflexes, that didn't seem wise. He was a few feet away from her when he cleared his throat loudly, and he watched as she sat up quickly in slight alarm. When she looked up and saw that it was him there above her, however, her body relaxed once again as she sat back with a heavy sigh, looking at him with eyes that were full of exhaustion and, if he didn't know better… sadness. The corners of her mouth moved ever so slightly, as if she was attempting to smile, but simply didn't have the energy or the will, or both.

If there was one feeling he understood, it was the one he saw on her face. Now, looking down at her, he suddenly no longer had the desire to walk the halls. Knowing that she was already here and sitting here alone, he no longer had the desire to be anywhere but exactly where he was. He sat down close beside her, so that their shoulders and arms leaned against each other, without a word. For more than a minute they simply sat there, breathing in and out, both staring forward. The contact gave him a strange and unexpected feeling of peace, he found.

Just his presence alone was comforting, she noticed, surprised at how much calmer she felt already. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting there before he arrived, only that she'd had her detail bring her in before the sun had come up. She'd abandoned all hope of sleeping and simply wanted to be out of her safe house. Somehow even the empty FBI building felt more comfortable than that place.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked quietly, his voice cracking with tiredness as he turned to look at her beside him. They were the first words he'd spoken since he'd said good night to her the night before, and he found that thought oddly comforting. Sarah had been in bed before he'd gotten home, and still sleeping when he'd left the apartment that morning. She would probably assume that he'd worked through the night – it wasn't as though it hadn't happened many times in the past.

Jane just shook her head, hesitating before looking over at him over her shoulder. "You?" she asked. Weller shook his head in reply, and they looked at each other in understanding. Just then it was uncanny how much they had in common, even if the emotions they were feeling weren't exactly the same.

He almost asked her if she was okay, but he bit his tongue. After all, _he_ wasn't okay, and he was sure that he was doing a lot better than she was. Just from looking at her, it was obvious that she wasn't okay. If he could just figure out what he _should_ say, that would've helped a lot just then… because he desperately wanted to say _something_ that would make her feel better.

They sat in silence, looking at each other for another long minute before Jane turned and looked down at the floor in front of her once again. Weller continued to watch her, however, hoping against hope that if he watched her carefully enough, he could figure out how to help her.

She felt his eyes on her, and she was surprised to realize that it didn't bother her to know that he was watching her. It wasn't that she _liked_ it, necessarily, but she didn't _dislike_ it. The more she thought about it, the more she gradually warmed up to the feeling. If nothing else, it helped her know that he was _there_ , which was a feeling that she liked very much.

"Do you know what time it is?" she asked at some point. He'd forgotten that he was wearing a watch, and he looked down at his wrist in surprise.

"7:18," he told her. It felt like late morning, as tired as he was and as long as he felt like he'd been there already. Looking back up at her, into her exhausted but startlingly beautiful green eyes, he felt a jolt of electricity flow between them. "You're meeting with Dr. Borden at 8:00, right?" He thought that was what she'd told him the night before, but at this point he didn't trust his memory… besides, he was running short on conversation topics.

"Yeah," she replied with a sigh. _Forty-two more minutes_ , she thought wearily. She so appreciated the fact that he'd sat with her this long, but surely he'd have better things to do than sit with her much longer, now that he realized what time it was.

"I can keep you company until then, if you want," he said reluctantly, as if he expected her to tell him that she'd prefer that he didn't. To his surprise and relief, she smiled for the first time that morning, not just a tiny crinkle of her lips, but a full smile. Once again, he couldn't get over how very beautiful she was.

"If you have other things to do, I understand," she said in protest, pulling her face back to its default, cautious expression. After all, she didn't want him to feel like he _had_ to keep her company.

But he just shook his head. "To say that I came in a little too early is a bit of an understatement," he replied slowly. "I'm not usually here _quite_ so far ahead of everyone else, I just… couldn't sleep. There's plenty to do of course, but my coffee hasn't kicked in yet… I need a little more time to wake up, anyway." She nodded, her smile creeping back across her face.

"Well, if you're not busy, I'd love your company," she said quietly, wondering if she was blushing. He smiled at her, and she had to look away, the heat in her cheeks felt so great. Instead, however, without even really giving it a second thought, she leaned over slightly towards him, just enough so that her head landed against his shoulder.

It occurred to her that she might be overstepping a line or a boundary of some kind, but at that moment she was so exhausted, she could barely hold her head up, much less worry about the proper distance between them. Besides, it wasn't as though she had any frame of reference for any of this. All she knew was that she felt a lot better now than she had before he'd arrived, and better still while leaning against him than she had just sitting beside him. Wasn't it just that simple?

He felt her sigh slightly against him, and he couldn't help but smile. It had been a special kind of luck that had led him into the office, walking down this particular hall, so early that morning, when normally neither one would probably have happened.

 _You could say the same about Jane ending up here with the FBI at all,_ the voice in his head said.

 _I'm not sure she'd agree about it being luck,_ he pointed out. After all, whatever had happened to her, she'd lost an entire lifetime. In a way, so had _he_ – or at least, he'd lost almost an entire lifetime of knowing _her_.

 _But she's here now,_ the voice said soothingly. _You can't fix the past… but you do have the present, and that's more than you thought you would have._

It was true, he realized as he sat there beside her, her head leaned against his shoulder, and he felt a sense of peace spread through him that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

About thirty-five minutes later, when Dr. Borden arrived, he found them sitting comfortably close beside each other, Jane's head on Weller's shoulder, her eyes closed.

Borden nodded at Weller, glancing at Jane. "Good morning," he said quietly to both of them, not sure if Jane was asleep or awake.

Her eyes blinked open slowly at the sound of Borden's voice, and she lifted her head off of Weller's shoulder, glancing at him sheepishly. It hadn't felt at all strange to lean against him until a third person had arrived. Turning her eyes toward Dr. Borden, she cleared her throat.

"Good morning," she said in a raspy voice.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, then," Borden told her apologetically.

"No, I know I'm early. I've… I've been here for quite a while. I just couldn't sleep, so I came in," she tried to explain. "I had nothing better to do."

She watched as Borden's eyes flicked back to Weller curiously, and she wasn't sure why she felt a sudden need to explain his presence, as well. Before she had a chance, however, Weller spoke up.

"There was a lot of that going around, it seemed," Weller agreed. "I just happened to walk by and see her here, so I decided to keep her company. Yesterday was… a hell of a day for us."

"I heard," Dr. Borden replied, watching the pair of them carefully. "Would you mind joining Jane and myself in my office in a few minutes, Agent Weller?" Dr. Borden asked. "Under the circumstances, I think your presence could be very useful. That is, if you don't mind, Jane?"

Both of them looked at Jane now, who seemed flustered by the sudden attention.

"Oh, no, uh… of course," she stammered. "It's fine."

Weller had noticing that her eyes had immediately gone questioningly to his at Borden's question. He could see from her expression that she liked the idea, and truth be told, he did, too. After all, he didn't have to force himself to walk away from her, which was feeling increasingly difficult to do sometimes, if he didn't have to leave at all.

"Oh, uh, sure," Weller replied. Dr. Borden was new to the Bureau, and Weller hadn't yet had much interaction with him. His previous bureau-mandated quarterly session had been with Borden's predecessor. It always felt a little awkward to be in that room, but, all things considered, it seemed like the least he could do. After all, he knew more about Taylor Shaw than anyone else. He always had, up until the day she'd disappeared.

"Excellent," Borden replied. "If you'll just give me five minutes to get settled, we can get started," he told them, to which they both nodded. Borden headed into his office, flicking on the lights and moving to his desk.

Now that there were somewhat alone again, Borden being in the next room, though his door remained open, Weller returned his attention to Jane. She'd become noticeably tenser since Borden's arrival.

 _Probably thinking about the things she's going to be talking about in there,_ he thought. _About being Taylor Shaw._ He already knew that that was a source of stress for her, after all. It was fairly obvious, at least to him.

"Are you sure you're okay with me sticking around?" he asked her quietly. "I don't mind if you'd rather I didn't."

She shook her head, scoffing slightly and looking at the floor for a few seconds before looking back up at him. "That's the part I'm _most_ okay with," she told him quietly, as if she was embarrassed to say it. Her eyes flicked downward once again. "Everything else is the hard part."

That familiar tug in his chest returned. "That's what I'm here for, Jane," he told her sincerely. "To help." Without looking back up, not wanting him to see just how intense her emotions were at that moment, she leaned against his shoulder again.

He couldn't help but smile at her reaction. Since she was clearly overwhelmed, he didn't react, simply sat there beside her providing someone to lean on – literally. He found that it felt good that he could be that person, even as his memories of Taylor, of which he hadn't let himself think about for a very long time, pressed in on him from all sides. As much as this had to do with him, this wasn't _about_ him. It was about _her_. And no, no other victim would have received such consideration, such extra special care from him. But no other victim was Taylor Shaw. It was simply a fact and there was no reason to pretend otherwise.

When Borden peeked his head out of his door five minutes later, he found the two still sitting in the same position as he'd initially found them, Jane's head on Agent Weller's shoulder.

 _Interesting_ , he noted, his face impassive. "Shall we?" he asked the two, watching them both nod, then stand up slowly and stretch.

The growing tension in Jane was obvious to Weller as soon as Borden appeared at his office door. He knew there wasn't much he could do about it, but he was glad he didn't have to walk away completely. It made him feel good that he could be more helpful to her than just letting her lean on him, even though dredging up those memories was always painful for him. Even now that he'd found her, it wouldn't be easy… but for her? Everything was _so_ much harder, of course. No, however hard for him it might be, that didn't matter. Even as a kid, he would have done anything for Taylor, and it seemed that nothing had changed in that regard, no matter how many other things _had_ changed.

They stood and walked stiffly into Borden's office, where he offered them matching oversized while chairs beside each other. After sitting so close together for the past hour or so, they sat down, unable to help but think that the distance between them felt enormous. They glanced at each other quickly as they sat down, both smiling slightly at the fact that their actions seemed to have mirrored each other.

"So tell me about last night," Dr. Borden began. And with that, Jane tried to tune out all the noise in her head, thankful that this time, she didn't have to do all the talking, and that she didn't have to face Borden alone. She might not have liked the answers she was getting, but at least there were answers to be had.


	37. There Is No Right Time

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 **Season 1, episode 4**

At the end of the session, Borden had advised Weller that any little detail that he could share with Jane about his memories of childhood could help her remember being Taylor. When Weller had glanced at Jane, she'd been looking right back at him, her eyes full of an uncertainty so intense, it threatened to take his breath away. Not for the first time, he vowed to do whatever he could to help her. After all, he'd been waiting for the chance to finally find out what had happened to Taylor for most of his life, so _of course_ he'd do whatever he could – even knowing that it wasn't going to be easy. When had anything ever been easy for him, anyway? This wasn't just a case, this was personal.

However, he'd internalized his guilt over Taylor for so long, refusing to even share the blame for her disappearance with anyone else, that it was hard to know how to begin with sharing any of his thoughts, much less the details. Those few people who knew him well – his sister, his team, and yes, Allie – knew about Taylor, Sarah more than the rest of them, of course, since she'd lived through it with him. Besides those few people that he was close to, no one else outside his hometown knew about his childhood, about what had happened to Taylor. He certainly wasn't going to volunteer such information, so it was just a part of his past that no one else knew about. Therefore, it had been many years since he'd voluntarily talked to anyone about her. Sarah tried to get him to talk about his feelings once in a while, but his sister knew better than to expect for him to actually open up. Losing Taylor had sealed Kurt shut emotionally, and it seemed that that one part of his life was a sorrow that he would carry with him forever.

Now, looking at her sitting beside him after all these years, he saw a haunted look in her eyes. When he thought about it, he realized that she could probably see something similar – maybe even the same thing – in his, as well. They were the same, and yet opposites in a way, he supposed – haunted by memories of the same past, except that he had all of them in excruciating detail… horrible memories that he could never forget, no matter how badly he wanted to. She, on the other hand, was haunted by the fact that she had not a single one clear enough to be sure of. They were opposites and yet… exactly the same.

Despite knowing that it would be difficult, Weller promised that he would do as Dr. Borden had suggested and share memories of their childhood with Jane, and the two of them stood up slowly, making their way out of Borden's office without a word. It had been an intense hour, and their thoughts were still swirling. After having spent so much time purposely _not_ thinking about these things, it was overwhelming for Weller to dig up so many of these memories on purpose. Jane also looked even more exhausted than she had when he'd found her outside Borden's office that morning.

As far as Jane was concerned, the session had been, just like everything else, strangely personal and yet completely impersonal all at once. It was more than just a little strange to hear all about this person that she had supposedly been but couldn't remember a single thing about. No, strange didn't cover it. It seemed _impossible_. How could she simply _forget_ who she was? Surely she hadn't really been that girl, because wouldn't she have remembered _something_? And yet… she couldn't exactly argue with any of it. She had no recollection of being Taylor, but she also had no recollection of being anyone else, either – only a handful of days' worth of memories of being Jane. Nothing sounded right, but it also didn't sound wrong. It just sounded… foreign. Unfamiliar. She supposed that it was normal for _some_ things to feel that way, but not _everything_.

The only time she didn't feel like absolutely everything was spinning out of control was when she looked in his eyes. It made sense that she'd get that sense of familiarity from him, she supposed, since they'd supposedly known each other so well as kids. That had to be what it was… _didn't it?_ She was more than a little bit desperate to believe that that was what it was. Yes, it made her uncomfortable that he remembered her so intensely, while she retained absolutely no memory of him. Even so, the feeling that she got when she looked at him almost made up for any discomfort that she might felt over not remembering. When you had nothing, as she did, after all, you grabbed onto whatever you could find.

And so, with no other options, she had felt herself grab onto him more and more. Not literally, of course, but figuratively very much so.

At first, neither of them spoke as they made their way slowly down the hall toward the bullpen where the rest of their team would undoubtedly be waiting for them by now. Even before they'd rounded the first corner, however, Weller risked another glance at her. Once again, she looked just as exhausted as he felt.

"I don't suppose you ate anything this morning?" he asked tentatively. Judging from the state he'd found her in on the couch and the early hour it had been at the time, it seemed as though she'd had the same kind of night he'd had. Since eating had been the last thing on his mind, it seemed like a safe bet that she hadn't eaten, either.

"No," she replied quietly, shaking her head. "I wasn't hungry. Besides, there's… not really anything at my place _to_ eat."

Nodding unhappily, he realized that he should probably help her remedy the problem of food at her safe house, but that it would obviously have to wait until later. "I didn't either," he admitted. "Do you want to grab something before we get overwhelmed with work?"

But Jane just shook her head. Really, she felt slightly nauseous just then, and while she was sure of almost nothing, she _was_ fairly sure that food wasn'ta good idea at that moment. "No, thanks," she replied. "I'm really not hungry." When he glanced at her in surprise, obviously having expected a different answer, she attempted to smile as if there was nothing wrong. However, between her exhaustion and the session with Borden weighing on her mind, she wasn't in much shape to convincingly pretend anything just then.

Of course, he wasn't hungry either, for much the same reason. With so much on his mind, it was hard to think about food. If she'd agreed to eat, he would have made himself eat – as he had done many times in the past, because he knew that he should. However, since she'd declined and since he didn't have it in him to argue with her about the importance of eating _something_ just then, he found it easier to just let it go and move on to whatever work was about to throw at him.

However, he did make a mental note to remember that she'd skipped breakfast. As soon as it occurred to him to do so, he realized that had she been anyone else, this would have seemed ridiculous. Keep track of her meals for her? _Really?_ But she wasn't just anyone, she was _Taylor_ , and despite the fact that she didn't remember being the girl he knew, he had the irresistible urge to ensure that she was safe... taken care of. No, maybe it was actually _because_ she didn't remember any of what she'd lost, not in spite of it. After all, he still considered it to be his fault that she'd gone missing in the first place. He hadn't watched over her carefully enough, and look how that had turned out. If not for him, she would still have her memories. If not for him, he might not have missed out on twenty-five years of their friendship. If not for him, he wouldn't be a stranger to her. If not for him….

 _Focus,_ he told himself.

No, it wasn't crazy to want to make sure that she ate enough. Looking out for her now was the very _least_ he could do. Really, he owed her that and so much more. He couldn't make up for failing her back then, but at least he could do _something_ to help her in the present.

And then suddenly they were walking side by side into the chaos of the bullpen, being called to the screens where Patterson had something for the team. Mayfair was there too, and Jane immediately shrank back, off to the side. As soon as Mayfair and Kurt were front and center, Patterson began the rundown of what she'd found out about the tattoo that she said she'd cracked that morning over breakfast.

Jane remained off to the side, content to be allowed to be there. From her spot on the sidelines she watched as Reade and Zapata joined them less than a minute later, just as Patterson was getting going with her explanation. Shortly after getting underway, Patterson's explanation brought them to the conclusion that they needed to check out the CDC's New York office, though the tattoo that had led them to that point didn't give any indication of what they were looking for. This time as they left the screens, it was a foregone conclusion that Jane would be going along.

Not knowing what they would find at the CDC, the four of them split into teams of two, taking separate cars just in case they needed to go their separate ways afterwards. Reade and Zapata had taken one SUV, which left Jane once again in the front seat beside Weller in the other. He'd kept her by his side so far, for which she was grateful. At least he looked at her kindly, quite the opposite of the way Reade did. She'd overheard the two men in the locker room talking about her, and she knew that Reade wasn't happy that she was tagging along with them again. It was somewhat mortifying that Weller had had to defend her presence in the field, and not for the first time. While it left her with a bad taste in her mouth to know that Reade was so against her being there, at the same time it made her feel good that Weller had been so absolutely certain that she _should_ be in the field with them.

As Weller drove, Jane stole glances at him now and then, but mostly she looked out the window at the city as it moved past her. The traffic was light, for that time of day at least, so they reached the CDC without too much trouble. As they got out of the car, Reade and Zapata pulled up behind them, remaining in their car and appearing to be in the middle of a heated debate. Jane took that moment to have a private word with Weller, as well.

"I wanted to thank you," she said quietly, her back to the other two agents as they stood on the sidewalk. Weller was looking at her, slightly confused.

 _She wants to thank me?_ he repeated to himself. _Why?_

"For what you said in the locker room. To Reade," she continued. "I don't want to be a burden to the team. I just want to help, and I appreciate your sticking up for me."

His heart sank slightly as he realized what she was talking about, and that she'd overheard their conversation. Really, he and Reade should have known better than to assume that they were alone in the locker room, since there were so many places that they couldn't see from where they'd been standing. FBI agents should be a lot smarter than that.

"I'm sorry you had to overhear that," he told her sincerely, watching her shake her head.

"No, I get it. I'm not FBI," she told him. "I'm a complete stranger who climbed out of a bag in Times Square. I understand why he doesn't trust me. I wouldn't trust me either, if I were any of you. I just…" She glanced down, then back up at him again. "Thank you for letting me come along." She tried to smile at him, but felt her emotions threaten to get the best of her and her eyes went to the ground.

"You're _not_ a stranger," he told her insistently. He bit his tongue before telling her she'd been his best friend, the only best friend he'd ever had.

But she was shaking her head. "You may have known me twenty-five years ago, but I don't even remember that person… how could I possibly _be_ her? I mean, I am, but I'm _not_." She shook her head in frustration. "The point is, I understand why he doesn't trust me… and I know that you want to, but I don't blame you if _you_ don't, either." When she looked up at him uncertainly, he felt his chest ache.

"I know I gave you a hard time at first," he told her slowly. "But I think you've already proven to us that there's a reason – or, lots of reasons – why we should have you with us in the field," he told her. "I don't like the idea of putting you in danger, and that's what it means to go out in the field. You never know what's going to happen, what we're going to find. When we were kids, I was always the one looking out for you, just as if you were my sister…" Pausing, he grinned slightly as he added, "Actually, I'm pretty sure I liked you a lot _more_ than I liked my own sister most of the time…"

She couldn't help but smile then, but said nothing as he continued.

"But, well… You have to admit that it's a _very_ unusual situation. I have to remind myself that you're _not_ exactly helpless. As dangerous as it is, you certainly seem to be able to handle yourself in the field. And you may have noticed that we need you out here on these cases…" He felt better as he watched her smile, chuckling slightly at his understatement about her not being helpless. She wasn't anything even resembling helpless, after all. "As far as Reade goes… he'll get over it."

Smiling nervously, she thought back to that first time that Weller hadn't wanted to take her out in the field. She'd argued her way into going along to Chinatown by convincing Mayfair, only to be left in the car by a _very_ stubborn Weller. And then shortly after that he'd realized that he _did_ need her help… but she also remembered what had happened while she'd been there, waiting in the hall. Without knowing why, she looked down at the backs of her hands, holding them up towards herself slightly and looking uncertainly at the knuckles that had gotten so bruised and bloodied that same first time, one floor below Chao's apartment, while she was supposed to have been waiting in the hall for him.

When she glanced up at Weller, she saw that he was looking down at her hands as well, and she wondered if he was remembering the same thing. Suddenly she doubted what she was doing there and how he could trust her, knowing that her reactions weren't at all predictable and that they had no idea what else she hadn't yet realized that she could do. Hell, as much as she wanted to be there, to help find the answers to what was going on, at that moment she didn't really know if she could trust _herself_. The thought was unnerving.

 _What kind of monster am I?_ she wondered.

Somehow he'd known when she'd looked down at the backs of her hands just what she was remembering. Telling her that she wasn't helpless – which was the truth, because she absolutely _wasn't_ – had apparently backfired, and had made her think back to when she'd been a little too aggressive with the two men in Chinatown. That hadn't been his intention, of course, just like hurting those men had never been _her_ intention. Despite his initial misgivings about having her in the field, he was quickly coming to see her as an asset to the team, albeit an unpredictable one. He could also see that at that moment, suddenly she looked more than just a little bit uncertain.

She nodded as his words rolled around in her head as she struggled to push aside her own sudden doubts about herself. Even though he hadn't said anything since he'd told her she wasn't helpless, the look in his eyes after she'd caught him also looking down at her knuckles had somehow reminded her of when he'd held onto them gently that day. Suddenly she was back there, immediately after he'd stopped her from beating those two men who had attacked her. He'd just barely held onto her hands as he'd carefully checked them for injuries while she'd tried desperately to calm down, her heart beating wildly. Now, as their eyes met, she felt her uncertainty begin to abate as quickly as it had come. It was like he had some sort of superpower, some sort of psychic ability to transfer this thoughts into her head.

 _I trust you,_ his eyes told her. She wanted to believe that he wasn't making a mistake by trusting her, but she supposed that only time would tell.

"Well anyway, thanks," she said once again. He just nodded at her and glanced up at the glass building in front of them as Reade and Zapata now emerged from their SUV, apparently done with their conversation as well. In only a few steps their group had reassembled and was ready to head inside.

X

There was a tattoo – make that three tattoos, really – _**on her face**_. While Weller talked to Patterson over the coms as Reade and Zapata stood and stared at Jane in surprise, Jane herself did her best not to panic.

 _They're on the rest of my body, so how is this different?_ she asked herself.

 _Because they're on my_ _ **face**_ _,_ she repeated in her mind, _How is it_ _ **not**_ _different? Besides, what does this mean for, well, my entire body? What other tattoos do I have that I can't even see?_ As much as she tried to tell herself it wasn't a big deal, still, it was a _very_ big deal.

Her mind was racing, desperate to catch up with what was happening. In the seconds since that ultraviolet light had been turned on in the tiny decontamination room, the three agents in front of her had been staring at her in shock. Weller, at least, had told the other two, "And _that's_ why we take her out in the field," which gave her a feeling of vindication – even if it was only because of what was _on_ her skin and not what she could actually contribute. Either way, the team needed her there.

Still, the staring was getting a little old, if she was going to be honest. Both Reade and Zapata were looking at her like she was some kind of freak, their expressions of shock also tinged with other, less complimentary emotions. The look on Reade's face was mixed with something bordering on disgust, while Zapata's was closer to… annoyance? It was impossible to know. Standing there, in the chamber that remained strangely lit thanks to the ultraviolet light, all she knew was that she had to keep breathing. This was a _good_ thing, after all, a break in the case.

 _You were used as a human post it note,_ the voice in her head reminded her, _How is that a good thing?_

 _It's a break in the case,_ she replied silently. _This whole mess is about finding the answers. A break in the case is a good thing, even if it has to be tattooed on my face. And I've been a human post it note since I crawled out of the bag, anyway._

At the same time, of course, what she wouldn't have given for that break in the case _not_ to have been found tattooed on her face. Now she felt like even more of a freak than she had before. But there was no time for lamenting what had and had not happened, because now they had an idea what they were looking for. Indeed, instead of just touring the CDC and hoping that something would stand out to them, they had an idea of where to start. Minutes later, they ended up in the Director's office, along with Rebecca Fein, Deputy Director of Epidemiology, who they'd met when they'd first arrived. The numbers that were tattooed on Jane's face corresponded to vials of extremely infectious diseases, which was immediately worrisome to the team. There was obviously a reason why these numbers had been chosen for the tattoos, and the reason was unlikely to be a positive one.

When Weller and Jane ended up locked down in the BHL4 lab, Weller didn't handle it well. When they'd discovered that all the vials whose numbers made up Jane's tattoo were missing, it seemed like anything but a coincidence, and the lockdown only reinforced this suspicion. On the contrary, neither of them had any doubt that the events were related. Unfortunately, they were now stuck there in the underground lab until the lockdown was lifted.

As if being in lock down there wasn't bad enough, being trapped inside the confines of the bright yellow suit didn't seem to be helping Weller's state of mind, either. Jane had been sitting and watching him pace, muttering to himself in frustration and only occasionally making the odd comment that she could both hear and make any sense of, for the better part of an hour and a half – almost as long as they'd been locked down. Though she still hadn't known him long enough to know him well, it was clear to her that he was frustrated and nervous.

Despite her earlier panic at finding that she had site specific tattoos on her face, it seemed that she was the calmer of the two of them. Now faced with a more immediate problem to take her mind off of the numbers invisibly branded on her skin, she felt the satisfaction of knowing that there might actually be something that she could _do_. The first step was to try to get Weller to calm down, and to _sit_ down. This might prove to be easier said than done, but she was going to try.

However, merely suggesting that he sit down hadn't worked. Weller hadn't even acknowledged the suggestion, only started in once again on how the timing of the lockdown couldn't be a coincidence. It was only when she took a different, less apologetic tone, which from the look on his face took _him_ by surprise just as much as it did her, that he seemed to hear her.

" _Kurt,"_ she said firmly in order to get his attention, before continuing in a gentler tone, "Sit, please?You're making me nervous." She realized only after the words had left her mouth that it was the first time she'd called him Kurt. Before then, he had always been Weller. For a split she wondered if it had been too familiar, except that suddenly she got the result she'd wanted – after hours of pacing, he'd glanced at her for a split second and then walked over and sat beside her, just like that. She wondered if it would have happened that easily if she'd used his first name earlier. Maybe that was the trick.

Once he was seated on a stool a few feet away from her, he raised his hand to waist level in a shrug-like motion as if to say _Okay, you win_ , _I'm sitting_ , dropping them onto his knees once more and staring at the wall across the room from them. It was perhaps the first occasion in the short but intense time that they'd known each other that their relationship had been reversed – usually, she followed his directions. Now, for the first time, he was following hers… and he wasn't sure why.

He'd known that he was frustrated and therefore not thinking clearly, but it just felt impossible to force himself to calm down. After all, he'd never been good at 'calm' when events moved out of his control, as they so obviously had since they'd arrived at the CDC. He supposed that made him the definition of a control freak, though he didn't like to think of himself that way. It sounded so negative. From his perspective, he was merely acting logically when others around him couldn't, maintaining control of a situation. As far as he was concerned, that was what made him a good leader. He also knew that he might be the only one who saw him this way.

But clearly he wasn't the only one who saw him as a strong leader, because he'd managed to rise through the FBI ranks to Lead Agent. Indeed, he was usually a highly logical, cool under pressure agent – it was one of his greatest strengths, actually – but in those instances where he was suddenly at the mercy of someone else, or of the situation, like they were now… he knew that he was failing to keep his cool, but he simply couldn't help it.

When Jane had called him by his first name, for some reason it had gotten his attention. For some reason, it had been different when she'd called him Kurt. Without any further protest he felt himself walk over and sit beside her, raising his hands in surrender and then dropping them again. _Fine,_ he thought, surprised and frankly, confused by why in the world he'd just done as she asked. Staring straight ahead, he attempted to calm his racing mind. Pacing may have been better, he decided. At least when he was moving, his thoughts didn't feel like they were moving as fast. Now, sitting still…

"Will you tell me about that night?"

Her words cut through the noise of his thoughts, and he turned to look at her.

"The night I went missing?" she added in clarification.

She'd needed a complete change in topic, something that would capture and hold his attention, keeping it off of where they were and the missing vials and the lockdown for as long as possible, and so she'd asked him to tell her about that night, which happened to be one of the many things in her past – _their_ past – about which she was desperate for answers. As far as she was concerned, she could accomplish two goals at once, helping both of them.

When he started talking, however, she wondered if maybe she should have just let him continue to stew over the lockdown and the vials. As much as she wanted to hear what he had to say about the circumstances of the night she disappeared, the pain in his face made her regret asking the question. Then, just like that, she had a flashback that she could only assume had to be from that night. A man – no, the silhouette of a man against bright light from beyond the doorway in front of her – was leading her away somewhere. She opened her eyes to find Kurt watching her, but he looked away as soon as their eyes met.

When he told her that his father had been the only suspect in her disappearance, her heart sank even further. Yes, she needed to know these things, but she wished there had been a way for her to find out without forcing him to relive this. Now she was certain that she shouldn't have started this conversation.

And then suddenly as Kurt continued to talk about his father, there was a _ding_ , and an automated voice told them the lockdown had been lifted. They both blinked in surprise, the intensity of the moment suddenly diffused as they were returned from a time twenty-five years in the past, rocketing back to the present. And just like that, it was time to stand up and get back to work. This topic would have to wait for another day.

From Rebecca Fein's no longer secret brownstone lab in Brooklyn, in which the techs bagged dozens of samples of dangerous diseases as evidence, the team had driven their separate SUVs – Reade and Zapata in one, Weller and Jane in the other – back to the NYO. At first they'd been quiet, but the longer the silence stretched on, the longer Jane felt like she needed to say something. She couldn't shake the feeling that instead of distracting him from his worry during the CDC lockdown, she'd inadvertently made him feel worse.

Finally, when she couldn't take the silent tension in the air any longer, she took a deep breath and began. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, "about before, during the lockdown. I didn't mean to…" She trailed off, not quite sure how to explain it. It wasn't that she hadn't consciously decided to ask him to tell her about that night, because she had. What she hadn't meant was to make him dredge up something that appeared to bother him more than she'd realized it would. Trying again, she said, "I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted…" With a sigh, she pursed her lips and looked out the window in front of her rather than look at him, then scoffed at herself softly. "You were so stressed about the lockdown… I just thought…"

Making an effort to smile, he shook his head slightly. "It's fine, Jane," he told her, but his voice was tense and he didn't fool either of them. He wasn't upset with her, but he also wasn't exactly what he would describe as okay, either. The situation was stressful because of the case, but that wasn't all that was weighing on his mind. His eyes flicked in her direction for a second, then back to the road ahead of him, his face not any more relaxed than it had been. He couldn't exactly deny that he'd been a little unsettled by their conversation at the CDC, and he had to remind himself that she had every right to ask questions. After all, there was no one else she could ask. He wanted to help her, it was just that he wasn't used to letting anyone inside the walls he'd carefully built around his emotions for so many years.

"No, it wasn't the right time…" she continued, not deterred by his attempt to brush off what had happened as unimportant. "I guess, maybe, there is no right time for that kind of question…"

She sighed heavily, and when Kurt glanced at her again, he saw that she was frowning, her eyes focused somewhere ahead in the distance. He hadn't given it much thought from her perspective, of course. Yes, it was painful for him to remember these things, but she had a right to know. Besides, shouldn't it be easier to remember it all now that she was no longer missing? Yes, he was in the habit of blocking it all out, but was it _just_ habit? And wasn't it more important to help her try to adjust? The simple answer to most of these questions was yes, of course.

"Jane, it's not that. I'm just…" He stopped to collect his thoughts, and she looked at him, studying his face carefully as she noticed his expression softening. "I'm just not used to talking about it. It's been something I've kept to myself for a long time. But I'm trying." Nodding in understanding, she glanced down, and then back up at him again, smiling slightly.

"I appreciate it," she told him quietly. He nodded, glancing at her for a second before turning back to the road, feeling like they now had an understanding of some kind, even though they really hadn't said very much.

X

Back at the NYO, events had unraveled in the case, and they realized that Rebecca was about to unleash a deadly virus on the population of New York City. Following the clues, they talked it through in the screens room. It became clear that they needed to get to the Manhattan Cruise Terminal to find whatever dispersion device Rebecca had set up there among the thousands of tourists and their baggage – and to do so in a very short time. It was going to be a challenge, to put it mildly.

But despite odds that seemed impossible, they did find the device, and together, the four of them managed to contain it just in time, with Patterson's help. The clock read 4:00 when they stood there in disbelief, watching a mist fill the plastic tent that they'd created around the seemingly harmless bag, partially in shock that they had come so close to failing to stop such a catastrophe. Yes, the terminal had been evacuated, but had they not succeeded in containing the device, chances were very good that _they_ would all have been exposed – which clearly was not the ideal outcome.

Reade and Zapata had backed away from the plastic tent full of deadly gas slightly farther than Jane and Weller, the two pairs now standing slightly apart as they continued to stare at it, willing it to hold. They had _all_ flinched noticeably when they'd heard the click, and then the toxic sample had filled the makeshift containment unit. There they stood, almost forgetting to breathe, staring at the plastic sheet and hoping. Hoping that there were no holes it in that would allow the gas to escape. Hoping that they'd done a thorough enough job taping the edges to the floor in the little time they'd had. Hoping that they wouldn't have missed something that would mean that _they_ would end up inhaling the deadly toxin themselves.

They were so focused on staring at the tented device that they didn't hear the young redheaded CDC representative walk up behind them, which meant that consequently, they were all rather startled when he spoke.

"Excuse me," he told them, each of them turning towards him in surprise, "now that the threat is contained, I've been asked to escort the four of you back to the quarantine tent we have set up and get checked for exposure. Hazmat will be here momentarily. You all did a hell of a job with this… So please, let's get you out of harm's way." The young man, who they didn't know but who wore a CDC badge, looked at them expectantly as they glanced at each other.

They all nodded, agreeing in theory that it was probably a good idea to get away from the device. Reade and Zapata turned and began following the man, not immediately realizing that the other two weren't following them.

As the other three retreated, Jane glanced at Kurt, noticing that he showed no sign of moving. "You go ahead with them," he told her. "I don't feel right leaving the device unattended. As soon as Hazmat shows up, I'll be there."

"But you heard what he said, it's dangerous," she protested weakly. She knew that he was the one in authority and that she couldn't tell him what to do, she had just hoped that she could convince him. After all, this was a highly deadly disease. The situation was serious. This was a bioweapon they were dealing with, and the four of them had contained it with nothing but cleaning supplies. There was no guarantee that it hadn't, or wouldn't, leak.

He had already made up his mind to stay behind, but he was interested to see her fighting him on it. There was a note of pleading in her voice that surprised him, one that, from anyone else, might have been frustrating. From Jane, however, that hint of pleading felt… what?

 _Endearing is the word you're looking for_ , the voice in his head said helpfully. _She's concerned about your safety. No matter that as far as she's concerned, you barely know each other._ That just made him appreciate the sentiment more.

Her face was full of worry now, watching him, and he made a special effort to smile calmly back at her. "Jane, think about it," he told her evenly. "This is a contagion that could infect millions of people in this city – it would have, if not for your tattoo." He looked at her evenly, pausing to let that sink in. "Thanks to you, all these people are safe."

"Thanks to the team," she corrected him, refusing to take credit for what was written on her face. _She_ hadn't done it, after all. They were the ones who'd done all the work. She'd just been in the right place at the right time.

"If I walk away," he continued, "who knows what could happen between now and when Hazmat gets here? What if Rebecca wasn't working alone, and someone else comes along to finish the job? This isn't exactly the most secure seal… And if it was unattended…" He glanced at the device, noting once more that something so dangerous was being held back by nothing more than maintenance supplies. Indeed, what if Rebecca _hadn't_ been acting alone? He wasn't just suggesting it to placate Jane. It was an idea that had been making him uneasy ever since they'd finished sealing off the device. "If something happened all because I walked away, and all I would have had to do to prevent it was to stand here… how could I live with myself?"

Sighing heavily in frustration because she knew that he was right, she realized that she wasn't going to convince him. He was being so logical, and so frustratingly dedicated to his job, and it annoyed her to no end – even as she was slightly in awe of him. She couldn't begrudge him doing the right thing, after all, and what he was doing _was_ the right thing, plain and simple. He was putting the good of the people of New York City above his own safety, just as they all did on a daily basis, and it really shouldn't have surprised her.

Watching as the fight went out of her, he knew that she'd seen the logic in what he was saying. As she nodded her head, he swore that her eyes searched his for some kind of reassurance.

She understood _why_ he was doing it, and it made sense. Now she was just worried for him as a person. He was important to her, she realized suddenly, and he was putting himself in danger. It was that simple. It was unsettling to accept that he wasn't going to come back to the quarantine tent with her to be cleared – at least not yet. If anything happened to him… Yes, she'd only known him for a few days, but he was the _only_ one who she knew was really on her side through all of this. The others… well, let's just say she'd rather have him around than not around. As much as she felt that she was constantly failing him because she couldn't live up to being Taylor Shaw, there was something about being around him that made her feel… _safe._

"I'll stay too," she offered, but he shook his head immediately.

"Go get yourself checked out," he told her sternly. "We can't afford for anything to happen to you." _I won't let you put yourself in any more danger than you already have,_ he thought. Again, he felt a stab of guilt over having failed to protect her as Taylor.

Fighting him wasn't going to do any good, she could see. "Promise you'll be careful?" she asked, suddenly with a hint of worry in her voice. He smiled back at her, and for a second she forgot exactly where they were, feeling warmed by his smile.

"Of course, Jane," he promised.

"Are you sure...?" she asked him, trailing off when she saw the determined look on his face.

"Head back and get checked out," he told her firmly. "I'll see you there in a few minutes." Her mouth creased into a frown, but she nodded slightly. Her stubbornness appeared to fade, but she clearly didn't like it.

"You're _sure_?" she asked once more.

He smiled warmly at her, now amused, nodding his head. "Go, Jane," he told her. Though she set her mouth into what was almost a scowl, she turned and began walking slowly in the direction that Reade and Zapata had followed the young CDC employee toward the exit, turning back to look over her shoulder after about ten feet, and pausing there.

Nodding at her encouragingly, he met her eyes and held the look she gave him. _Be careful,_ it said. Unable to help himself, he smiled at her again as she turned around slowly to continue walking away from him.

She was grudgingly heading for the exit, but she had a very uneasy feeling. It felt wrong leaving Weller there by himself… ominous, even. No matter that he was a trained FBI agent who she knew very well could take care of himself. There were situations where one person could easily be neutralized, no matter how powerful that one person was, and that included him. The further away she got, the more uneasy she felt, until, in the makeshift quarantine tent in the parking lot where a doctor was talking about giving her a blood test, she became convinced that she shouldn't have left him there alone.

 _What was I thinking?_ she asked herself.

 _That he's a perfectly capable, highly-trained FBI agent,_ she told herself. _And you think you could help him… how exactly?_

It was true, she didn't know what skills she possessed, but she _had_ saved his life already, hadn't she? Chao had been about to kill him the first time she'd been in the field with him, and might have if she hadn't been there to take that shot. She could have just laid there inside the base of the Statue of Liberty and waited for backup, but instead she'd run up _all_ of those stairs immediately after being shot in the arm herself, and made it in time to save Weller.

 _And what if I hadn't?_ she asked herself. The more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she became.

"We should've stayed with him," she told Reade and Zapata, who she'd caught up to outside the quarantine tent.

"It's over," Reade said, "He's fine." The other two agents were unconcerned, but that didn't make Jane feel any better.

The man in the quarantine tent who told them they needed blood tests, Frank Surrey from the CDC, apparently agreed that Weller needed to get himself to the quarantine tent as well, because when he noticed that Weller wasn't with them, he asked for a radio to call him. Zapata handed one over without a word. As he called over the radio to Weller, Jane watched him closely. She could hear both sides of the conversation, and Weller told Frank that if he was concerned about the agent's exposure to the pathogen he would bring him a hazmat suit, because he wasn't leaving until Hazmat showed up.

Jane watched all this carefully. She wasn't comfortable with Kurt having stayed behind by the device either, and she'd only grudgingly left with the others at his insistence. But even more than that, there was something about Surrey's reaction that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It wasn't what he said, wasn't something she could quantify, it was just… a feeling. And _not_ a good feeling.

She was still watching Surrey closely as he picked up a Hazmat suit and readied a few things before moving toward the exit of the quarantine tent. That was when a nurse came up beside her, telling her to sit down and producing a needle with which to draw her blood. For a second Jane was annoyed at the woman's intrusion into her thoughts, but she quickly realized what was going on, sitting down cooperatively and following the nurse's directions. And yet, she did not take her eyes off of Surrey until he disappeared out of the quarantine tent. There was something about him that she didn't like, and something in the back of her brain screaming that she needed to follow him. Unfortunately, there was still a needle in her arm just then.

The nurse told her to stay put, even though Jane started to protest, and it wasn't until several minutes later, when the woman finally told her that she was cleared, that Jane made her way quietly back out onto the same concourse she'd left only a few minutes before. Passing Reade and Zapata, she mumbled, "I think Weller's in trouble." Of course, this only led to their frantic calls for her to come back and tell them what in the world she was talking about, but she was not about to be delayed any longer as she pushed her way past several surprised CDC employees on her way back to the check in area, where she'd left Weller, hoping that she wasn't too late.

 _I hope I'm wrong_ , she thought frantically as she broke into a run.


	38. Nice To Have You Back

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 **Season 1, episode 4**

As soon as Weller told Dr. Surrey that it was over, the man launched into a speech worthy of a comic book supervillain. He told Weller that the greatest threat to mankind was modern medicine, that the diseases for which humanity created vaccines were never supposed to have been cured because the planet could not support eight billion people. Weller placed himself between the device and Surry, going to reach for his gun before remembering that he was wearing a bright yellow hazmat suit, and that his gun was therefore inaccessible.

"You're a doctor. You work for the CDC. Your job is to save lives," Weller told him.

"No, my job is to save the human race."

There would be no reasoning with this man, he could see. Now all Weller could do was to keep him from carrying out his plan, which would mean infecting himself, and Weller as well, and then flying around the world to infect others. That would be the beginning of a major outbreak with the last and most deadly of the stolen viruses. After ranting on for another minute, Surrey launched himself at Weller and the two men ended up on the ground, where Surrey grabbed a metal pipe lying nearby, swinging it determinedly.

After managing to get back on their feet, the men continued to struggle, and for a minute it looked as though Weller had Surrey, holding him against the stiff chairs where waiting tourists had been waiting less than an hour before. Surrey, however, kicked him in the knee, knocking him to the ground, and made a break for it, leaping over a row of chairs to get away.

That was when Jane arrived, running full speed and jumping over the same chairs as if it was merely a hurdle in a relay race. While Weller regained his footing and Surrey ran toward the device, Jane lunged at him, grabbing him by the arm to slow him down and then punching him repeatedly in the face. By this point, Weller had made it over to the two of them, and a minute later, Surrey had been rendered unconscious thanks to a team effort.

Looking away from the now subdued man for a second, Weller's eyes met Jane's as she stood only a few feet away, catching her breath.

"You okay?" he asked her.

Jane nodded, still looking in Weller's eyes. She had been _right_ , and she'd just saved his life again. If she hadn't gotten there in time… she cringed at the thought.

"Yeah," she replied, as if on a delay. "You?"

His expression was serious. He was alright as far as he _knew_. Surrey hadn't done anything to the device that he knew of… but of course, nothing was 100% for certain.

"I think so," he replied gravely. "But you should get out of here. Go back to the quarantine tent. They're going to have to check you again."

For a few seconds she just stared at him in surprise, her mouth slightly open. "Do you remember what just happened? The last time I left you here by yourself?" she asked, her voice rising slightly. Her eyes flicked down to Surrey, still unconscious, between them.

Kurt's next thought was that Surrey needed to be in handcuffs, and the sooner the better. The two options for that were to either remove his hazmat suit, or to have someone else bring another set of cuffs. Since Jane had been standing by the device and, as far as he knew, already cleared the medical screening once, he assumed that it was safe enough to remove his suit. Besides, he hadn't been wearing his suit earlier, so he already had potential exposure. Besides these things, of course, Weller was stubborn, and he had already decided that that was what he was going to do.

When Jane saw him move to disengage the helmet from the rest of his hazmat suit, she looked at him as though he was crazy. "What are you doing?" she asked, panicked. "You can't—You don't know that it's safe—" But before she could protest any further, he'd removed the headpiece. Now there was nothing obscuring the blue of his eyes as he looked back at her steadily, smiling crookedly as though she was telling him a joke.

"That's funny, coming from the woman who's _not wearing a hazmat suit_ ," he observed evenly. She stopped midsentence, her eyes narrowing at him slightly as she thought about what to say next. It was true, after all, but...

 _Dammit, Weller…_ she thought.

"I need to get this thing off, because this guy needs to be in cuffs, and I can't exactly get to mine through this damn thing," he said, already pulling the offending garment off of him. He still hadn't forgiven it for preventing him for going for him gun when he'd needed to. That would have prevented a lot of problems and a very close call.

Jane just shook her head at him slowly, knowing that there was nothing she could say to change his mind. Not only was he far too stubborn, but he'd already gotten the suit halfway off, and within under a minute, the entire thing was on the floor in a heap of yellow, as if someone had skinned a very large rubber duck.

With Surrey finally handcuffed, though still unconscious, Kurt called back to Zapata and Reade on the coms. Just as he did, he saw them jogging down the concourse, apparently having followed Jane, albeit belatedly, when she'd said that Weller was in trouble, and after confirmation from Patterson.

"What the hell happened?" asked Zapata. The coms hadn't transmitted Surrey's supervillain speech.

Weller shook his head, looking down at the man on the floor. "Surrey was in on it," he said as the other two nodded, glancing from the unconscious man back to Weller. "He was about to infect himself and then fly around the world to spread the virus."

"And he was going to infect _you_ , as well, don't forget," Jane added, looking at Weller reproachfully. Why didn't it surprise her that he neglected to mention the danger that _he'd_ been in?

"Right," he replied, holding her gaze for a second longer than he'd intended. "But he didn't. Thanks to Jane."

"I'm just glad you're okay," she said sincerely.

"You guys know that they're going to make us get screened again before we're cleared to leave here, right?" Reade said, annoyance seeping into his voice, despite the fact that he was relieved that everyone was safe.

"Considering that it was Surrey who cleared us the first time, I think I'd prefer that, actually," Zapata asserted, and the others nodded.

"So now we just need hazmat here, and we need to get _him_ ," Weller paused and looked down at Surrey, who was still unconscious, "back to the NYO." Just then, they heard a faint crackle of a radio and turned to see the hazmat team finally walking down the concourse toward them. "Finally," he mumbled. After briefing them on what they knew, Weller's team turned the scene over to the specialists and looked back down to decide on the best way to deal with Surrey.

"Somebody help me get him up," Weller said, leaning over Surrey and grunting against the dead weight of the unconscious man. He grabbed him under his shoulder, lifting him the best he could. Reade stepped over him and took the other side, and the two hauled him up, determining that the best way to carry him would be for one of them to carry his upper body, and the other to take his legs as they walked him awkwardly back to one of the waiting SUVs. Zapata walked ahead, clearly fed up with the whole situation, talking to Patterson through her earpiece on her way back to the quarantine tent that they had just left several minutes before.

Jane, on the other hand, hung back, walking behind the men who were lugging Surrey along. She couldn't see anything that she could do to help, but she also didn't want to leave them behind. Even though the scene was now contained by hazmat and Surrey was in handcuffs, she wasn't comfortable leaving them without backup. After all, their hands were a little full, and she didn't like the idea of them ending up in the situation they'd just gotten out of all over again.

They all went back to the quarantine tent, since even Surrey had had the same level of exposure as they had and even unconscious, he would need to be tested. He needed it even more so, really, since he'd been planning on infecting others, so who knew if he'd done something on purpose to infect himself that they'd missed. The employees in the tent certainly raised their eyebrows to see their colleague carried in unconscious and in handcuffs, but Weller told them gruffly that he was under arrest, and needed to be the first one tested, so to their credit, they didn't ask questions. Instead, they stopped staring and got to work. A stretcher was brought in so that they could lay him down on it, and Weller removed the handcuffs from behind Surrey's back, instead securing his wrists to the metal bars on the side of the stretcher.

Reade walked back over to the far side of the tent to sit by Zapata, whose arms were folded in annoyance that they had to go through the process _again_. She'd shot a glare at Surrey's unconscious figure when they'd come in and after that, she'd simply stared at the wall in annoyance. That left Weller and Jane standing by the man who had just caused them so much trouble.

Her thoughts were elsewhere, and when she looked up, she was surprised to see Kurt watching her. He smiled ever so slightly, then turned away from the stretcher to walk over and sit down at one of the tables. Jane moved right along with him, and they sat down beside each other, closer than one might have expected of people who had only known each other a few days. Of course, they'd already been through a lot in those few days.

"What made you come back?" he asked, leaning forward, his shoulders slightly hunched over as he leaned down against his knees, looking up at her with both gratitude and curiosity.

She couldn't help but notice how blue his eyes were, and how much they seemed to _say_ beyond the words he was actually saying. With a shrug, she replied, "Something about him was… _off_. Even before Patterson had found out about him… So as soon as the nurse let me out of here," she looked around at the tent they were currently in, rolling her eyes slightly, "I came back. I didn't like the idea of you there by yourself in the first place…" Her voice trailed off and she felt heat in her cheeks, slightly embarrassed to admit that she'd been worried about him.

Smiling slightly, he nodded. "Well, thanks…" he told her. "You seem to be in the habit of saving my life."

Glancing away self-consciously, she smiled for a few seconds before looking back at him. After all, it was just something that seemed to keep happening. With a shrug she replied, "I guess we make a good team." After that the nurse returned, having finished with Reade and Zapata, and now drew blood from them to be able to test for toxins.

He watched as Jane stared disinterestedly into space while she was being poked, literally not even seeming to notice that there was a needle in her arm. He wasn't afraid of needles, per se, but Kurt wasn't sure that he could come across as _quite_ that disinterested, even at his best. Then again, how many needles had been stuck into her to get all of those tattoos? This one blood draw probably _did_ feel like nothing to her… except that, once again, she probably didn't even _remember_ those needles

 _Whatever it is she's been through in the past, it certainly had to be something extreme,_ he thought. In his next thought, he wondered if they would ever know what had happened to Jane in between being a five year old who simply disappeared from her bed and then showing up, naked and groggy in a bag in Times Square, covered in tattoos, twenty-five years later.

Weller and Zapata were medically cleared first, and they got up and left the quarantine tent to walk outside by the water along the pier. There they had enough privacy that they could talk about the case without non-cleared ears overhearing them. Before Jane and Reade were out of view, Weller turned and looked back at them worriedly. Jane had saved his life, and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if she'd contracted the virus somehow because she'd come back for him. He saw that she'd moved over to the table where Reade was sitting, though the two weren't talking. They didn't have the best of working relationships.

In the end, though Reade's test had had to be redone for a _third_ time, and Jane's results seemed to take an eternity to come back, they were all finally cleared – which was a good thing because they were nearly climbing the walls with impatience by that time. They headed back to the NYO, Reade and Zapata pulling away from the curb before Jane and Weller had ever reached their SUV. Jane had stopped along the pier to look down into the water.

She seemed lost in thought, and Weller wasn't sure whether or not he should interrupt her. After several minute of debate, however, he took a tentative step up beside her. "You ready to go?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," she replied, realizing that she'd been distracted. "Sorry."

Shrugging slightly, he smiled just enough for the expression to reach his eyes. "Nothing to be sorry for," he told her, watching her carefully. "After today, I'd say you're entitled to a little decompression."

The same hint of a smile crossed her face in response to his kindness, but she couldn't help but think that she needed a lot more than a little decompression. No matter what she did, she felt like she was never going to shake the anxiety that seemed to accompany… well, _everything._ The latest thing to be anxious about was that Reade had just told her that she was having some sort of adverse effect on Weller, for which she felt guilty – of course.

 _When he's around you, the guy I lean on, the guy I know… isn't there._

It hadn't been a criticism, but an observation. Of course, she had no way to see the difference, since she only knew how he was when she _was_ around. Even so, she hated to think that she was the cause of Weller somehow being a less competent agent. The problem, of course, was that she had no idea what she could do about it. Just add it to the list of things over which she had no control – that list included just about everything and already felt hopelessly overwhelming, so what was one more thing?

Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes for a second to collect herself, then did her best to give him a more genuine smile when she opened them again. He was being so kind to her, even though her presence was somehow clouding his judgement.

"Yeah," she managed simply, not feeling like bringing up any of the things that were on her mind would help anything just then. Glancing out at the water once more, she turned in the direction of the cars and they walked side by side in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

The questions of who had done this to her and why weighed heavily on him. It seemed that her tattoos were providing them with a way to combat corruption, to right wrongs, but why in the world would someone put this information _on a human being_? Why not just call in a tip for each of the individual cases that her tattoos represented? Why make them spend all this time decoding things when whoever had done this could simply let them skip that step? If that person wanted to help, why wouldn't they have just given them the clues straight, with no extra work required? Was this some sort of sick game?

Back at the car, he opened the door for her, which he noticed made her smile self-consciously as she climbed into her seat. "Thanks," she mumbled as she got settled, and he closed it after her, before she even had a chance to reach for the handle. He knew that he didn't have to, but the desire to do these little things for her was overpowering. After all, not only had he missed out on the chance to do _anything_ for her for the past twenty-five years, but also, at least as far as he was concerned, it was his fault that she'd disappeared in the first place. If only he'd watched her more carefully… As far as he was concerned, he owed her. Now more than ever, he blamed himself for what had happened to her – whatever that was.

Back at the NYO, she'd gotten off the elevator first several floors before SIOC, heading for the locker room. "I'll see you up there," she'd said over her shoulder, and he'd nodded, imagining that she wanted a little space. He wanted to respect that, but at the same time he was hesitant to let her out of his sight. But he was glad that she was still in the building, where he knew with relative certainty that she'd be safe. He needed to check in with Mayfair, and with Patterson, and both of those potential conversations were on his mind as he rode the elevator the rest of the way up to SIOC.

Jane did, indeed, go to the locker room. Once she'd glanced down the rows of lockers and found that at least for the time being, she was alone, she sank down onto the bench, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands.

 _Breathe_ , she told herself. After she'd successfully done that a few times, her mind wandered back to the events that had unfolded in the last few hours. _I could have died,_ she thought to herself. _We all could have died._

 _But you didn't. None of you… Because you stopped Rebecca and Frank's plan. You saved millions of people's lives around the world._ She nodded her head, even though there was no one there to see it, and sighed heavily once again. She felt exhausted, but didn't want to let herself get drowsy. It was time to stand up.

A few minutes later, she was back in the elevator, on her way up to SIOC. She didn't have a more specific destination in mind, but she didn't have anywhere _else_ to go, so wandering randomly up to SIOC was as good as anywhere else, and safer than wandering around outside. That way, she'd be nearby in case something happened – basically anything.

 _And Weller's there_ , her mind filled in helpfully.

Another benefit of staying in the building was that she didn't have to worry about getting lost. Well… in theory she supposed she _could_ get lost in the building, but it seemed like she'd have a better chance of finding her way back to something familiar than she would on the streets of New York City. It certainly was exhausting to feel so uncertain about everything, every moment of every day, that was for sure.

The elevator opened and she looked out at the bullpen. Reade and Zapata were there, discussing something that seemed serious enough to warrant concerned faces. Mayfair was in her office, talking to a balding man that Jane didn't recognize. As her eyes scanned the room, she saw other faces, all unfamiliar. Kurt didn't seem to be there. Telling herself not to be disappointed, she set off down the closest hallway, not even giving a second thought to where it led. Her mind was still spinning and she just needed… No, she couldn't even pretend to know _what_ she needed.

A few minutes later she came to a stop outside the conference room that she'd been in a few days before, which at the moment was empty. Thinking that it was as good a place as any to kill some time, she let herself in, walking around the table to the laptop that was sitting there.

 _Is it weird to find this just sitting here?_ she wondered. Usually everything was so secure around there. However, the laptop was on the login screen, so she supposed it wasn't _completely_ unsecured, and she decided that since she had been given a consultant login, it wouldn't be out of line for her to use the computer. She could try and research… _herself._ That was certainly case related, after all.

X

Mayfair had been talking to Carter from the CIA in her office, so Kurt had steered clear of that whole situation. The man was frustrating, to put it diplomatically. Instead, he'd wandered down the hall to see Patterson, and to talk to her about what they'd found at the CDC. As soon as he'd walked through the door, she'd run across the lab and hugged him tightly, which had definitely been a surprise. In the seconds that followed, she seemed to realize what she was doing, stepping back and looking embarrassed.

"Sorry, sorry…" she'd mumbled. "I'm just… you guys scared me." She looked up at him, still looking frightened.

While he wasn't exactly comfortable with Patterson hugging him, she'd already stopped, so no harm had been done other than making him squirm for a few seconds. Of course, he knew Patterson well enough by now to know that she was simply an affectionate person, and though it wasn't a common occurrence, it wasn't the first time she'd hugged him. Most of the time she stayed very professional, but he knew that she had been worried. There was no harm done, and he just shook his head to dismiss her apology.

He, on the other hand, liked to keep people at a reasonable distance.

 _Except Jane, apparently_ , the voice in his head pointed out.

"Please don't make a habit of potentially exposing yourself to deadly viruses…" she requested imploringly.

He raised an eyebrow at her, smiling slightly and shaking his head. They both knew there was nothing that could have been done differently, and that Weller would _always_ put himself in harm's way if it meant saving others. That was just the kind of agent that he was. He also knew that Patterson _always_ worried about them when they went into the field, and that that was just as much in her nature as the need to save people was in his.

"Trust me, given the choice, we would _not_ have been exposed to _any_ deadly viruses," he assured her. The blonde smiled and rolled her eyes.

"I know, I know…" she replied, turning back to her work.

"I'll see you later, Patterson," he called as he turned and walked out of the lab.

"See you later," she said absently, already staring at the large screen where several of Jane's tattoos had been magnified many times over, completely mesmerized.

Heading down the hall, he took a different route on the way back towards the bullpen. He didn't know quite what had made him do it, until he spotted Jane in the conference room closest to Mayfair's office. He'd wondered if she'd made her way back up here yet… and now he had his answer. She sat facing the door, but at the far end of the long table, and she looked engrossed in something on the screen of the laptop in front of her.

The sound of the door caught her attention, and she looked up to find Kurt walking across the room toward her. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning. What he _was_ doing was looking intently at her, with an expression that she couldn't quite figure out. She'd just been reading about her own disappearance at age five in an old newspaper clipping, so she was grateful for the excuse to look away from the evidence of her past. All of a sudden, it had all been feeling like a little too much… like it was a little too real.

 _Of course it's real. That's_ _ **you**_ _. It happened to_ _ **you**_ ,the voice in her head reminded her.

But it didn't feel like her, and she supposed that that was what was making her anxious. Of course, it was just _one_ of the things that had been making her anxious ever since Patterson had told them that she was Taylor Shaw. Because she simply couldn't reconcile in her head the idea of being someone that she couldn't remember, no matter how she tried.

Her expression was just as serious as his as she watched him walk across the room towards her. When he stood directly across the table from her, he stopped and just looked at her for a few seconds. "You were very brave today," he told her seriously. Hesitating, he crossed her arms over his chest. "Stupid… but brave." Part of him knew that he should reprimand her for acting recklessly, he'd realized only afterwards, but how exactly could he reprimand someone who'd most likely saved his life? No, he didn't want her to put herself in danger for him… but he couldn't say that he wasn't glad that she had, now that it was done. He would certainly rather be alive than _not_.

She'd been watching him, her expression equally serious, and now she looked down, her feelings even more confused than ever. He'd just called her brave, and then immediately called her stupid. Maybe what she'd done _had_ been stupid… but how could she possibly worry about only herself? Surely he didn't really think that she would have just left him there to be exposed to a lethal virus, knowing that she could stop it?

Keeping her eyes down, her voice was quiet as she replied. "I think there was a compliment in there somewhere." She didn't look directly at him, but she caught the look on his face in her peripheral vision. Suddenly, he was smiling at her. Not a superficial smile, but one that suddenly lit up his whole face. Glancing down, he started walking around the end of the table towards her.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry if earlier in the car…" He was standing beside her chair now, and she finally looked up at him, her sentence trailing off. She felt genuinely guilty for bringing up their childhood, and she still felt a sting when she remembered how adamantly he'd told her that he didn't want to talk about it. It was part of the reason she'd sat down to try to look it up on her own when given the chance to use a computer. That way, maybe she wouldn't have to bother him for as many of the details.

Looking up at him standing above her, however, she felt her apology melt in her mouth. Now that she was looking directly at him, she could see just how drastically the look on his face had changed in the past thirty seconds or so. He barely seemed like the same person who'd been so determined not to tell her about the past earlier. Holding his hand out slightly, he shook his head back and forth quickly to dismiss her apology. He wasn't upset with her. If anything, he was upset with _himself_ for the way he'd reacted to her _._

When he looked down over her shoulder and saw what she was looking at on the screen, he immediately felt guilty for how abrupt he'd been with her earlier. Leaning down for a better angle and without looking at her, he turned the laptop slightly, resting his hands on the table. His shoulders were hunched slightly forward, and he could feel her watching him cautiously. He knew that he shouldn't have snapped at her earlier, that it had been the stress of the situation… but he also knew that it didn't excuse his behavior. He'd agreed to share things with her… it just hadn't been a great time to talk about it then. Really, he was still getting used to the idea of talking about it at all.

Studying the article, and the close up of her as a five year old, he couldn't help but be flooded with memories of that time. Normally, it would have made him have to look away, but now… with her sitting there right beside him… he found that while his chest ached at the memories, it wasn't as bad as it had been in the past. Of course not… Because she was _right there_.

"I recognize where that photo was taken," he told her, still staring at the screen. He felt her looking at him, and even though there was plenty of space between them, he suddenly wondered if he was just a little too close – not that he wanted to move away, which was unheard of for him. He didn't _like_ people inside his personal space, and he didn't like to be inside theirs.

 _Except Jane,_ the voice in his head reminded him again. _And you're the one who put yourself right next to her, if you'll recall._

She looked back down at the screen, studying the picture of herself as a child, and trying hard to remember. Of course, nothing came, and she breathed slowly, hoping she didn't look as frustrated as she felt.

 _What would it be like…? To remember?_ she wondered. She might never know. Pushing the thought away as quickly as she could before the despair showed on her face, she tried to think of something else. _Anything_ else.

Beside her, he stood back up, leaning away from her for a second, but then pulled the chair at the end of the table over and sat down, moving it closer to hers. He felt himself smiling just a little, which was strange. No, it was unheard of. He was smiling while thinking about Taylor… That hadn't happened since he was ten years old, since before she'd disappeared.

 _Because she's here. She's not missing anymore,_ the voice reminded him. _You're allowed to stop mourning her now_ , it added.

He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the feeling of wonder that this thought gave him. That emptiness had become so much a part of him over the years, he didn't quite know how to let go of it.

As he moved the chair closer, he began speaking. Jane watched him uncertainly as he focused on the screen again. "We had a creek out in the back of our house." He pointed at the picture, over the little girl's shoulder. _Her_ shoulder. "Just out there." When he paused, Jane's eyes darted from him back to the screen. "We didn't catch much, but, uh… I loved being out there."

There was something in his voice that told her that this wasn't just a normal happy memory. He was staring at the screen, seeming lost in thought. She smiled slightly for a second, her face then returning to the neutral expression she'd worn since he walked in. After he'd snapped at her in the car, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't bother him about it again, or that she'd do so as little as possible. Now, however, he seemed to be in the mood to share.

"My sister, she was always inside playing with her dolls, but, uh…" He glanced up at her for the first time in a few minutes. "But you were a tomboy. And anytime I was outside, you'd run out of your house and try to tag along." He looked away then, and she watched him chuckle at the memory that she couldn't share. "We had this little wooden fort," he continued. "I hadn't thought about that… for a long time."

Jane smiled at him just a little once again, but still said nothing. Just then, Patterson pushed open the glass door at the far end of the room. Even though neither of them had been speaking when she did, she glanced at them uncomfortably, as if she was fairly sure she was interrupting something.

"Sorry," she told them uncertainly, "Weller, can I steal you for a second?"

"Okay," he said simply, but didn't move immediately. Jane felt herself tense, as she tried to keep the slight panic that she felt from showing on her face. She hadn't realized just how hungrily she was taking in the details that Weller was feeing her until he was about to leave the room.

Standing up, he chuckled again at the memories. It was the first time he'd actually been able to _enjoy_ memories of Taylor in as long as he could remember. He turned the laptop back to face Jane again, and she forced her eyes to go back to the screen. She wanted to say _something_ , but couldn't think of just what that something should be.

Suddenly, his hand was on her shoulder, and she looked up at him quickly in surprise. Somehow it felt as though heat was radiating from his hand and throughout her body. "It's really nice… to have you back," he told her. His thumb tapped against the skin at the base of her neck and then lay still for a second, then tapped again. He held his hand there for one more beat before removing it from her shoulder and stepping away, pushing the chair back into its place at the table and walking across the room slowly. He found that he was finding it harder to walk away from her than he'd anticipated.

Patterson had walked ahead of him down the hall, so there was no longer an audience. At the door, he paused and turned back around, looking into her eyes once again. Looking up from the screen, she was startled by the intensity she saw gazing back at her. They'd shared quite a few intense looks in the past few days, of course, but this one seemed different somehow. It was as if he was asking her a million questions with the look he was giving her. Even though she knew that she didn't have the answers to anything he could ask her, she managed not to break eye contact, attempting to keep her fragile composure. Besides, even if she couldn't answer his questions, she liked this feeling… whatever it was.

Looking at her, he couldn't help but think that her smile looked… sad. He hoped that he hadn't somehow made this harder for her. It seemed unfathomable to him, that she could be here and yet not remember any of this… though in some ways, it seemed that fate had it backwards. Maybe she should have remembered their childhood and _he_ should have been the one able to forget… there were so many things that he _wished_ he could forget, after all.

Of course, maybe her amnesia had something to do with what had happened _after_ she'd disappeared. He would never subject her to remembering _that_ if she didn't have to. No, maybe it was better for her that she couldn't remember… and since he had always done absolutely everything in his power to protect her when they were kids, at that moment he decided that he was glad she couldn't remember being kidnapped, even if that meant that she had to forget _him._ He didn't want to subject her to remember whatever terrible things might have been done to her, after all, or whatever it was that had happened to her after that. Trying to keep the look of panic off of his face, he shuddered inside, trying not to think about what some of the sick, twisted people in the world did to little girls. He'd seen it first hand in his job more than once.

 _Breathe, Weller,_ he told himself. _She's here, and she's safe, and she can certainly defend herself these days. Not much you can do about the rest now._

Forcing himself to focus only on Jane across the room from him, he smiled at her.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, earlier," he told her sincerely. "I guess I was a little stressed, and this whole thing has been… _a lot_. But it's still no excuse." She had no idea, after all, what an emotional subject anything dealing with _her_ had been for him for the past twenty-five years. How could she? Combine that with the stress of what they'd been handling earlier, and it had just been a bad combination.

She'd been watching him carefully, a serious look on her face almost without exception since he'd walked into the room. Now, her expression softened just enough that he could see a faint smile on her face. Nodding at him slightly, she tried to think of something to say. "I really appreciate everything you're doing for me," she told him.

Of course, there was something more to it than just appreciating what he was _doing_. What she appreciated about him most was actually not something he was doing, but the feeling she got when she looked at him… As she moved through each day, for the most part there was nothing but uncertainty surrounding her, and yet when she looked at him, she felt… grounded. He was like a life ring that was preventing her from drowning in someone else's life. She wished there was a way to tell him any of this, but just didn't know where she would've started. And besides, did that really even make sense? Or would it just be one more thing about her that didn't make sense?

Maybe eventually it would all be clear… but that day would not be today. Instead, she contented herself with looking into his eyes. The look he gave her was so intense, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe he actually _could_ read what she was thinking.

 _If he can, then maybe he can explain it to_ _ **me**_ _,_ she thought, frustrating creeping back into her mind. She could feel the strain in her smile, and it took all of her energy just to hold it there on her face.

"I'll see you later," he told her, realizing that the seconds were ticking by and he was still standing there, staring at Jane, while Patterson waited for him down the hall. She just nodded, watching him with the strained smile that was barely there to start with, and which faded as soon as he turned to walk away. Her eyes went back to the article, and she read it again, once again willing herself to remember, but to no avail. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes.

 _I can do this,_ she thought, not feeling any certainty whatsoever that this was true, but hoping that if she told herself enough times that it was, that she would begin to believe it. Besides, what was the other choice? There wasn't one.

 _I can do this,_ she repeated, opening her eyes and looking at the article once again. Maybe this time, she would remember something.


	39. Deadly Virus Contained, World Saved

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 **Season 1, between episodes 4 and 5**

"Both tests are conclusive. But both can't be true. I don't know who she is."

Patterson's words continued to echo in his head long after Kurt had left the blonde's lab. This was what she'd come to find him in the conference room to tell him. He'd talking to Jane about what he remembered, sitting beside her in front of the laptop where she'd been reading an article about her own disappearance. He'd been surprised by how annoyed he'd been with Patterson for pulling him away from that conversation. It wasn't like him not to be able to switch gears at work, to move from one thing to the next at the drop of a hat.

 _Maybe it wasn't the switching gears that got to you,_ the voice in his head whispered. _Maybe it was because you were sitting there talking to Jane, and Patterson pulled you away from your conversation with her._

He didn't want to admit that the voice might have a point, but he knew better than to think there was any other reason. It hadn't even been a week since Jane had been dropped into his life, and already he had almost forgotten what it had been like before she'd appeared.

Now sitting in the front of the computer at his workstation, he tapped a pencil absently against the desk, his mind working. _She has to be Taylor. She_ _ **is**_ _Taylor. I_ _ **know**_ _it._ There was no room for uncertainty. Besides, the DNA test had been positive… But it wasn't _just_ that – he just _knew_. That other test must simply be _wrong_. He couldn't explain how that could happen, of course, because Patterson had said that both tests were conclusive… but there was obviously an error somewhere.

His mind quickly smoothed over the distress and confusion that the isotope test had caused, simply explaining it away. An error for which he could not account, but which he _could_ accept. Not Patterson's error, of course, because she wasn't exactly known to be wrong. Just… _an_ error… somewhere. Some kind of rare scientific anomaly. Yes, that was it. It was the only explanation.

Having resolved the issue in his head, he looked around to find that the bullpen area had emptied out. Was it that late already? A glance at his watch confirmed that yes, it _was_ that late already. After 8:00, which explained why, besides Mayfair, who sat at her desk and glared at a file in front of her, everyone else seemed to have gone home. After all, even dedicated workaholics had to sleep sometime… at least in theory. He stood up and stretched, wondering if Jane was still around, though he assumed not. Still, he found himself tracing the path back to the last place he'd seen her several hours before – the conference room.

As he approached the glass walls, his pace slowed. Though he'd gone there specifically to look for her, he was surprised to actually _find_ her there, sitting in what appeared to be the same exact position she'd been in when he'd left the room hours ago. Pausing at the door, he watched her for a minute. She frowned at the screen, appearing to read something, intently focused. It was clear that she was unhappy with what she was seeing.

 _Has she been sitting here doing this since I left?_ he wondered. Of course, he had done this thousands of times – lost hours in a row to internet research of one subject or another. He supposed that most people had. The internet certainly made that easy to do. Wondering if she even realized how much time had passed, he decided that he should help drag her back to reality.

 _Someone should,_ he rationalized. _She can't stay here doing this all night. Or she shouldn't, anyway._

There was a soft _whoosh_ ing sound, and Jane looked up in surprise, and then smiled when she saw that the source of the sound had been the door opening as Kurt came in. He was now standing there looking at her curiously.

 _God, her smile is beautiful_ , he thought before he could stop himself. Not that he needed to stop himself, of course. There was nothing wrong with thinking that, was there? Her smile _was_ beautiful, after all. It was merely an observation of the obvious. It wasn't as though he'd said it out loud.

Then he panicked for a split second. _I didn't say that out loud,_ _ **did I**_ _?_ he wondered anxiously. But her expression hadn't changed, and he was pretty sure that he hadn't, so he relaxed again.

"Hey," he said. "I've come to save you from yourself."

Looking at him blankly, she blinked in confusion. "What?" she asked. "I don't know what you mean." In that time, he'd walked across the room and around the table to where he'd been standing before, looking over her shoulder. There was a google search page open, and the subject was _Taylor Shaw_.

Smiling down at her, he replied, "What I mean is, it's after 8:00. What are you still doing here?"

"Oh, well…" she started, suddenly feeling her anxiety level rise slightly. She hadn't realized that it was getting late, since she couldn't see any windows from the conference room, and she hadn't paid any attention to the clock. Between being absorbed in her quest for information about her own childhood – which still seemed to her like a very strange thing to have to search online – and the fact that she'd rather have postponed going back to her safe house for as long as possible anyway, keeping track of the time had been the last thing on her radar. No, she was perfectly happy to sit there and search for information about herself online until she wore herself out.

Scratch that. She wouldn't quite say that she was perfectly happy. Not, of course, that she would know what perfectly happy felt like… but she doubted it involved quite as much uncertainty and stress as she was feeling. One thing she did notice, however, was a significant decline in her stress level when Kurt walked into the room, and a further decline when he walked around the table to stand beside her. It shouldn't make sense to her, she knew, because she didn't even know him. It had only been a few days since they'd met. And yet, somehow she found herself breathing easier all of a sudden.

Realizing that she hadn't finished her sentence, she just shrugged. "I guess I lost track of time," she added, deciding that she didn't have to admit that she didn't want to go back to the emptiness of her safe house. Even the emptiness of the FBI building at night was preferable to that. "But couldn't I ask you the same question? What are _you_ doing here so late?" She grinned at him, glad to have changed the subject away from herself.

"Good point," he conceded. "Why don't we go get a beer? I've had enough of this place for one day."

Now that the choice wasn't just between stay where she was and go back to her safe house, leaving suddenly sounded much more appealing. Especially because the choice was now stay here a little longer by herself or leave with Kurt. Yes, she would _eventually_ end up at her safe house, but she could put off thinking about that until it was absolutely necessary. After all, she'd gotten better and better at focusing only on the current moment. In a way, she had to, or she would go crazy – everything else was just uncertainty.

He smiled at her expectantly, waiting for an answer, watching as the wheels turned in her head. He hadn't really expected her to think about it… Then again, he thought back to the slight panic he'd seen in her eyes when he'd left her at the safe house before, and wondered if that played a part. Just before he started to say something else that would give her an out if she didn't want to go, her smile widened.

"That would be great. I, uh, still don't have any money or anything…" she told him, slightly embarrassed. Of course, he probably knew that… or maybe not. It was best to be sure.

He wondered about the money situation, and what the FBI's plan was for that. She couldn't just walk around with nothing indefinitely… Making a mental note to look into that, he shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal," he assured her. Considering that he felt like he'd failed to stop her from being kidnapped twenty-five years ago, it seemed like the absolute least he could do was to help her re-acclimate to her life. "You ready to go? I mean, you're obviously having fun here…"

His words were joking but his smile and his tone felt warm and sympathetic to her, and she realized that she'd much rather leave with him than continue to look up a childhood that she didn't remember. A lot of the results had been dead ends, anyway. She moved the cursor to the X in the corner of the screen, closing the window, then logging out of the system and closing the laptop.

"Not that much fun," she replied, standing up slowly. He'd taken a half step back to give her space, but he was still standing closer to her than anyone else would have, she noticed. Indeed, most people tended to give her an extra-large zone of personal space along with a suspicious look, which was more than a little unnerving, as if they weren't quite sure what she was going to do next. As if she was dangerous, not to be trusted. Kurt, however, gave her a warm smile each time he saw her, without fail, focusing on her eyes and appearing not to notice anything else about her – namely the tattoos that it was impossible for everyone else _not_ to fixate on. Around _him_ , she felt like a human being.

She was standing up now, smiling at him, and for a second he forgot that she was waiting for him to turn around and walk toward the door so that she could follow. Not that she couldn't have gone the other way around the very long table, but it seemed silly, since they were going to the same door.

"Alright then, let's go," he said, quickly recovering his composure and turning to walk back around the table.

With a smile, she once again pushed the thought of eventually arriving at her safe house out of her mind and followed him back toward the door of the conference room. He held it open for her and she stepped past him into the hall. "Thanks," she said, not sure why she felt like she was blushing, only knowing that she was pretty sure she was.

"Of course," he replied easily, falling into step beside her. She was starting to get become familiar with the layout of the FBI, so she was less following him than walking along beside him, and it was a nice change to feel as though _something_ in her life was familiar – besides a constant state of anxiety over the fact that _nothing_ seemed familiar.

They walked through the silent halls back to the elevator, and she glanced around at the bullpen. "Wow, it really emptied out in here," she observed. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw that even Mayfair was gone now.

"Yep, it did… but then, it's on the late side," he replied. When she nodded, her eyes darting around the bullpen one more time before falling on the clock on the wall, he watched as her smile dimmed just a little.

She couldn't help but wonder, because he seemed to read her so well some of the time – or maybe that was just something she imagined – if it was obvious how she felt about going "home." The thought of being that transparent made her uncomfortable, even though at the same time, she liked the feeling that he might understand her that well. It was all pretty confusing.

The elevator seemed to take forever to return to their floor. The two of them stood side by side, watching the numbers move slowly for a few seconds before glancing back at each other at almost the same second, smiling tiredly.

"You hangin' in there?" he asked. He felt the unfamiliar urge to move closer to her, but he remained still, confused, because he generally liked people further away from him.

"I guess so," she replied. "Not that I really know any different." What she did notice, however, was that just then she felt a little better, standing there with him.

"Some days, all you can do is get to the end and hope that the next one is better," he told her empathetically. He'd certainly had more than his share of _those_. She nodded, a hint of a smile showing but her expression otherwise tight.

Something in his eyes told her that he knew all about that kind of day. _Well of course he does,_ the voice in her head reminded her. _He looked for you for twenty-five years. Talk about a high level of frustration._

Finally, the elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. Minutes later, after a quiet ride and a stop in the locker room, they emerged into the parking garage. It wasn't empty, but Kurt's car didn't have nearly as much company as it had earlier.

"Some days I wonder," he said with a smile as they walked towards it, "if other people really park here, or if my car sits here alone all day." When Jane looked at him strangely, he added, "A lot of times when I get in, my car is one of the only ones, and it's the same when I leave."

"So what you're saying is you work too much," she observed with a smile.

"Pretty much, yeah," he chuckled. "But that's not much of a secret."

They'd reached his car and he clicked the button to unlock it, opening the door for her before she had a chance. By the time he'd gone around to the driver's side and gotten in, she had her seatbelt on, and her expression said that she had something on her mind.

"So why do you do it?" she asked. "Why do you work so much?"

He was surprised by the question, of course. It had been a long time since he'd even thought about it. His work wasn't just something that he _did._ No, his job was who he _was_ most of the time. He caught the bad guys, righted wrongs. Every once in a while, he found missing kids, all of which was extremely gratifying, but never quite filled in the hole he felt inside him. Realizing that he hadn't answered, he shrugged, trying to think of how to put it into words.

"For a very long time… maybe almost as long as I can remember… I needed somewhere to focus my energy. Sometimes, my anger. I needed to do something that would help people, something that I could control, I guess, because my life felt out of control."

She nodded, certainly able to relate to that.

"So I guess I channeled everything into my job. I was always trying to make up for…" His voice trailed off and he looked at her, seeming to realize only then that he was talking to the person whose disappearance had made him the way he was, ultimately. "It just became a habit. A way that I knew that I could do good, that I could help people. And when the rest of my life didn't make sense, work did."

Looking at her, he hoped that she wasn't going to feel like he blamed her for what he'd been through. It certainly hadn't been _her_ fault, after all, though it had been _because of her_. He started the car and backed out of the parking space, maneuvering to the exit and then out into the darkened streets.

Nodding, she looked away, trying to keep the smile on her face. She didn't know him well, but what he said made sense, and it seemed to fit with what she _did_ know of him. He hadn't come out and said so, but her disappearance, and his reaction to it, seemed to have had a much bigger impact on his life than she'd realized. Even knowing that it hadn't been within her control, she couldn't help but feel… not guilty, exactly, but _responsible_. Never mind that she had been the victim in all of this.

"In my experience, no one's life goes the way they expect it to," he told her. "Granted, most people's go a _little_ bit closer to their expectations than either of ours have…" He smiled crookedly and shook his head, taking advantage of the red light they were stopped at to glance over at her.

She rolled her eyes at what seemed like a gigantic understatement, tilting her head to one side and smiling back at him. What else could they do? She couldn't even begin to imagine what had happened to her, beyond what she could remember of the past few days. Should she be grateful or sad that she couldn't remember? Was there something or someone that she'd lost? Was she better off not knowing? There were nothing but questions that had no answers, and only a few answers that led to still more questions. She didn't even _know_ how she'd expected her life to go. That last thought especially made her stomach tighten in frustration. There was nothing she could do about that…

 _No, that's not true_ , she realized. Thinking back to what Kurt had just been telling her about why he worked so much, his reasons resonated clearly with her.

 _When the rest of my life didn't make sense, work did._

Okay, maybe it was a stretch to say that she felt like even going out into the field with Weller and his team made sense, but at least when she did, she wasn't just sitting there, waiting for something to happen or for someone else to fix things for her. At least when she was actively trying to solve these tattoo puzzles, she was _doing something_. She couldn't do much to help the team, but it was better than nothing.

Glancing at her quickly again, he could see the wheels turning in her head and he wondered where they'd taken her. She'd been quiet for more than a few minutes now.

"We're almost there," he told her, more to break the silence than because it was important for her to know. They were going to a bar that he'd been to many times over the years, often enough that he was nearly always greeted by first name when he walked in.

This time, it turned out, was no exception to that. "Weller!" the man behind the bar called as the two of them walked into the long, dimly lit room, moving towards the bar. Jane glanced at him with a smile, surprised at the familiarity with which the other man had addressed him. It was the first time she'd seen someone greet him outside of work.

"I've been here a few times," he mumbled as they strode up to the bar.

"A few, right," Jane replied in amusement.

"I thought you'd left town," the man behind the bar said good-naturedly to Kurt as he and Jane stood against the bar. "Where've you been?"

"Working," Kurt replied, ignoring the good natured ribbing. "Saving the world and all that."

The bartender looked at Jane and rolled his eyes. "This guy works _too much_ ," he told her. "I'm Jake, by the way."

"Jane," she replied, shaking his head.

"Nice to meet you, Jane," the other man replied.

"You, too," said Jane.

Turning back to look at him, Jake asked, "So, Weller, what's new?"

Jane bit her lip, trying not to laugh, and wondering how he was going to answer the bartender's question.

"Just work, man," Kurt said nonchalantly with a shrug. He glanced at Jane without even realizing it, but the other man noticed immediately.

"Is he staying out of trouble?" Jake asked Jane. "I know his job can be dangerous. You know, chasing down the bad guys all the time, saving the world."

"This guy? Staying out of trouble? Definitely not," she replied, shaking her head and smiling, glancing back at Kurt and grinning even more at his reaction. For a second, looking at Kurt, she forgot that she had been talking to Jake only seconds before.

Chuckling to himself, Jake looked from Jane to Kurt and shook his head at the two of them. This was certainly an interesting development for Weller, that was for sure. He didn't know who this Jane was, but she seemed to have a powerful effect on him. "Anyway, what can I get you guys tonight?" Jake asked.

Jane's eyes were still on Kurt, and his were still on her. He watched as panic immediately crept onto her face, her smile dimming slightly. Turning back to Jake without missing a beat, Kurt replied, "Two of whatever you have on tap. Surprise us."

"Coming right up," Jake said, stepping down the bar to fill their order.

Jane turned to Kurt, whispering, "Thanks." She looked flustered and unhappy, though relieved.

"Tried beer yet?" he asked her quietly. Her response was as he expected, a shake of her head. _No_. "Well then, there's no time like the present," he told her, hoping that she would calm down. He couldn't describe exactly why, but he'd really enjoyed being able to take care of that small detail for her, knowing how very uncomfortable it made her not to know what she liked. He liked feeling like he knew her better than the other people around them. After all, once upon a time he'd known her better than anyone else in the world. He'd missed that even more than he'd realized.

 _You've come a long way in only a few days, in the putting your foot in your mouth department,_ he told himself, thinking back to that first night at her safe house. He recalled telling her _"So… if there's any food you like, tell the security guys and they'll get it for you."_ He'd quickly realized his mistake, but it had been too late, the words were already out. The look that she'd given him in return had made him feel _terrible_. Of course she hadn't know what she liked. For the most part, she still didn't, and probably wouldn't for a while… but he was trying to help her with that problem.

When he emerged from his thoughts and glanced at her, she was watching him, smiling faintly, and quickly looked away, as if she'd been caught. Just then, Jake was back with two tall glasses of amber liquid. "Here we go, guys, enjoy," he told them, setting down the glasses in front of them. "This round is on the house. I haven't seen you in here nearly enough lately, Weller." Then, turning to Jane, he asked, "He's been working too much, right?"

"Absolutely," she smiled in amusement, nodding at Jake. She wasn't sure what to expect from the beer, and she didn't necessarily want to try it right in front of Jake just in case she didn't like it and made a face or something. She watched as Kurt took a sip of his, then glanced back at his friend. "Thank you," she told the bartender sincerely.

"Yeah, thanks man," Kurt echoed. "And for the record, I will admit that I've been working more than usual lately, yes." Unable to stop himself, even unaware that he was doing it, he glanced at Jane once again.

 _Ahhhh,_ thought Jake, _So these two work together. Weller is obviously not minding the long hours, I'd say,_ Jake decided silently.

"You're welcome, guys. Let me know if you need anything else," he told them.

"Will do," Kurt replied, then turned slowly away from the bar. Jane followed his lead, and they wove their way through the empty tables to a booth that was set off in a corner at one end of the bar. They sat down opposite each other, and she finally sipped her beer cautiously, unsure what she was in for. It was a pleasant surprise, she found, and she nodded, smiling slightly.

"You like it?" he asked. "Beer can be an acquired taste for some people, but this is a pretty good one…"

"It's really different, but it's good," she replied, finally feeling herself begin to relax. "This was a good idea." Then, looking suddenly serious, she asked, "But you have to be twenty-one to drink, right? So it's a good thing he didn't ask for my ID. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm over twenty-one, but…"

 _But I don't have an ID. Or an identity to go with it._ The words hung in there air, but neither of them said them out loud.

She'd been feeling really good for perhaps the first time, and it had lasted only a matter of seconds. Now there she was, stressed out again, her face drawn with worry. One hand was loosely around her glass, while the other, which had been sitting loosely on the table, was now pulled tightly into a fist.

He fought the urge to cover her clenched hand with his, to try to get her to relax again, but it wasn't easy. At the same time, he wondered where in the world that urge had _come from_ , because it wasn't something that he was accustomed to feeling.

Shaking his head and smiling at her, he hoped to transfer some degree of calm back to her if he projected it intently enough. "Nah," he assured her, "You're with me. He wasn't going to question you."

A tiny smile of amusement crept onto her face, and he suddenly felt left like he'd won the lottery. "Oh yeah?" She studied him carefully, as if looking for hidden meaning in his words.

"Well, yeah," he replied, feeling flustered under her sudden scrutiny. "FBI agents are good to have around that way."

Nodding in agreement and smiling absently, she almost looked like she knew something that he didn't. "I'm starting to find that out," she agreed. The way she said it, it almost seemed like there was another layer to her words, but she didn't elaborate further.

They both looked down and sipped their beers then, the notes of a song Jane, unsurprisingly, didn't know floating through the air. When they both happened to look back up at the same time, they smiled, Kurt shaking his head and tilting his head in thought. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "We can get something to eat."

"Oh, uh…" Jane started, only now realizing that she hadn't eaten in a long time. "I hadn't even thought about food."

"Considering that we spent most of the day together, I'm assuming that you haven't eaten, just like I haven't. And it's probably better not to drink on an empty stomach," he observed, already standing up. "I'll go get a menu. Oh, and just for the record, it _is_ better not to drink on an empty stomach. There's no probably about it." She opened her mouth to protest that he didn't have to, that really she was fine, but he was already on his way over to the bar. Besides, if she'd said that she wasn't hungry, it would be a lie. Now that he'd mentioned food, she _was_ hungry.

So instead, she watched Kurt approach the bar, then watched as Jake walked back over and the men talked. There was a definite familiarity between them, she could tell.

At the bar, Kurt caught Jake's attention and the other man ambled over. "Hey, what's up?" he asked. "You guys need something?"

"Yeah, can I get a menu?" Kurt asked.

"Of course," Jake said, looking down and then grabbing one from behind the counter. As he handed it to Kurt, there was a glint in his eye. "So," he began, "I haven't seen you in here with _her_ before."

"Yeah," he replied, trying to act more casual than he felt. After all, he had no responsibility to tell this man anything. They were casual acquaintances. Jake, being a bartender, just had the habit of feeling that he could ask his regulars personal questions. Kurt didn't _mind_ the question, per se, but he also felt no need to explain himself. "We just met recently." It was _sort of_ true.

"Well, she seems pretty cool. Gorgeous, too. And her ink is pretty awesome." Jake seemed to like quite a few things about Jane.

 _If only you knew just how "awesome" that ink is,_ Kurt thought, deciding that while it was beautiful, even the word _awesome_ didn't quite seem adequate.

 _The ink is beautiful?_ the voice in his head asked innocently. _Or_ _ **she**_ _is?_

 _There's nothing wrong with admitting that she's attractive,_ Kurt thought defensively.

 _There might be if you feel that defensive about admitting it to yourself,_ the voice replied knowingly, to his annoyance.

Looking at Kurt knowingly, Jake grinned. "Let me guess. You're going to tell me that you're just friends."

Kurt rolled his eyes. _You can tell Jake whatever the hell you want,_ he reminded himself. _He's the bartender. You don't owe him complete honesty._

But Kurt wasn't much of a people person, and there weren't a lot of people that he liked. He didn't really know him, of course, but Jake seemed like a good guy. It didn't seem right to _lie_ to him. "Like I said, we just met," Kurt began. "At work." This was, of course, the truth. A very simple version of the truth, but the truth nonetheless. He didn't feel the need to add in the part about her being his long lost, formerly kidnapped best friend and next door neighbor from childhood.

"Ahhh yes, I know this one well," Jake said knowingly.

 _Jake, you have no idea,_ Kurt thought, but just smiled and let Jake pretend that he knew what Kurt was going through.

"Anyway, seems like you two have hit it off," Jake told him. "I'll leave it at that."

 _Thank you,_ thought Kurt.

From the other side of the bar, Jane was watching the interaction. She noticed that even after Kurt held a menu in his hand, he continued to stand there and converse with Jake. Whatever they were talking about, both of them seemed animated, though she could only see the back of Kurt's head and a hint of his profile.

"You guys let me know if you want to order something," Jake told him.

"Will do," Kurt replied, turning back towards Jane with the menu. As he looked up at her, he found that she was watching him in amusement.

"I got us a menu," he said, sliding back into the booth across from her with a grin. She was still watching him intently, and it made him both a little uncomfortable while at the same time seemed to make him smile uncontrollably. It was a strange, but not unpleasant sensation.

"I see," she replied, clearly humoring him for acting so pleased about doing exactly as he'd told her he was going to do.

"You want to see what they have?" Looking up at her, he watched as her face changed. She tried to hide her frustration, but her smile dimmed notably. Still, she made a valiant effort not to lose it completely.

With a shrug, she replied, "If you haven't seen me eat it, I'm not going to remember it, so… go ahead and choose whatever you think I should try." She was working hard to keep her tone even, hoping that maybe, if she could keep herself from sounding upset, she could stop herself from _feeling_ upset.

 _If only it was that easy,_ she thought.

For a few seconds, their eyes met, and it was as if they were both studying each other. Looking up at her, he saw a mixture of sadness and determination in her eyes. Not being able to remember her own likes and dislikes… well, that would bother anyone, but he could see that she was working hard to maintain her composure.

There was a light in his eyes as he looked at her, and she almost felt as though he could see right through her head and read her thoughts. Even though she knew that it was impossible, it actually felt like that might be what was happening. Despite the sudden sensation that the bottom was dropping out of her stomach from the reminder that once again, she had no idea what she even liked to eat, she felt reassured by the warmth with which he was looking at her. It was as though, if she just kept looking at him, just maybe she wouldn't drown in her own thoughts.

He paused, smiling sympathetically at her for a second, and then looked back down at the menu. "Well then, let's see…" he mused, appearing to give the idea very careful consideration. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, he looked up at her again. "You know, this effort is going to require more than one outing," he said, grinning at her like a little boy who'd just had a very exciting idea of which he wanted to convince his parents. "There's so many things to try… and this is really, really important information to know."

Watching her eyes light up with a genuine smile once again as she took in the meaning of what he was saying, he felt his own smile intensify as well. There was something about making her smile – _really,_ genuinely smile – that made _him_ happy as well.

"Whatever you say," she told him. She couldn't help but smile at the glow she felt just then. Not only had he always treated her like a human being, which put him far ahead of most people so far, who stared at her suspiciously, but when he looked at her the way he currently was, she felt… _special_. Suddenly, it mattered just a little bit less that she couldn't remember anything about herself or her life or anything else. She was surprised what a difference it made that someone seemed to care about her wellbeing, her happiness, and _not_ just because it was their job to do so. He seemed to genuinely care about her.

 _Or was it Taylor that he cared about?_ She chose to ignore that stray thought just then, refusing to allow her happiness to be dulled.

"I mean, it may take us a while," he added. "Realistically, this job doesn't give a _lot_ of free time for outings like this…"

Jane nodded in understanding. That part was already becoming pretty clear.

"But we can figure that out. We'll do our best," he told her, his eyes sparkling playfully as he grinned at her, then looked back down at the menu. "For today, I think we need to start with… nachos. And mozzarella sticks. And… spinach and artichoke dip. Okay?" He looked back up at her, still grinning.

"I told you, whatever you say," she shrugged.

"You know, Zapata would tell you not to say that to me too much," he told her with a grin. "But I'm not complaining."

"Well, don't get _too_ used to it," she cautioned him. This just made him grin even harder.

"That's the spirit," he told her, sliding out of the booth. "I'll just go and order the food." With that, he'd walked back across the room to the bar, once again speaking to Jake good-naturedly for several minutes.

She watched him, thinking that it was interesting how different he was here, away from work, how much more relaxed he seemed, from the way he was at work. When he finally walked back over a few minutes later, he smiled apologetically.

"Sorry," he told her, "Jake loves to talk."

"No problem," she shrugged.

"So, let's toast to not dying today," he proposed, raising his glass and waiting for her to do the same. "Crisis averted, deadly virus contained, world saved, and all that good stuff."

Laughing at his summary of their day's work, she could find no fault with it. Not only was that a simplified version of exactly what had happened that day, but it seemed like a toast to "not dying" would have always been appropriate.

"To not dying today," she repeated as they clinked their classes and then both took a drink from their beers. It had been a hell of a day, she realized when she looked back. Had it really only been _that morning_ that Patterson had cracked the tattoo with the leaf picture that had led them to the CDC? Indeed it had. The rest of it had snowballed from there at a staggering pace. She hadn't even realized that she'd been lost in her thoughts until she looked back up to see Kurt watching her curiously.

"Sorry, I was just thinking…" she told him slowly, trying to sort out her thoughts. "Today was really… _intense_. Every day has been, so far." Pausing again as if something had just occurred to her, she asked, "Are _all_ of your days like this in your job?"

He grinned at the awe with which she asked the question. To him, it was just work, but he could see how, to someone who wasn't accustomed to the pace, it could seem overwhelming. "Well, yes and no," he replied. "It's an intense job, to be sure. There are a lot of nonstop days. But I can honestly say that since you got here, it's been…" What was the right word? Shaking his head, he chuckled, watching her watching him. "…Different," he finally added, at a loss to find a better word. "But in a good way."

In her head, she heard his voice from when he'd told her in the conference room, " _It's really nice… to have you back,"_ even recalled his hand on her shoulder and the way his finger had tapped against her skin twice before he'd withdrawn to leave the room.

"Well, I can see the attraction of the job," she told him. "You make a difference. A big one, every day. You get to help people, save them even." She had to admit, she was slightly in awe of how easy Weller and his team made the job look. When she thought about it, what they'd done already with the small amount of information from her tattoos, it was more than a little bit impressive. The fact that Patterson could turn the pictures into usable data, and that they could follow it all down the way they did…

And of course, the way everything seemed to eventually, it made her wonder about her own life. The more things she learned about other people and the world, the more questions it gave her about herself. What kind of job had _she_ had… _before_?

"All your work… it means a lot to the people you help, you know," she added softly, once again pulling herself back out of her thoughts. "It's a shame that some of them don't even know how grateful they should be to you, to the team. Like today. Basically all of New York… the world even. I doubt most people get to say that they saved the world at work today and actually have it be _true_."

He shrugged, now slightly embarrassed. What she was saying was factually true, but it was just part of the job. "All in a day's work," he told her. "No big deal."

She was about to tell him that it _was_ a big deal, but a waitress was already arriving with their food. "Alright, guys, here's your order," she told them, suddenly appearing beside their table with a large tray full of food. She set the plates down between them, and Jane's eyes grew wide.

"That's a lot of food," she observed.

"Don't worry, I have faith in us," he told her. Then looked at the food in front of them, he pointed at each one in turn. "So, here we have nachos," he said, indicating the largest plate, "and mozzarella sticks, and spinach and artichoke dip."

She was so amused with how excited he seemed about getting her to try these new foods, and she couldn't help but feel some of his enthusiasm transfer to her as well. One by one, she tried each dish, finding that each of them was very different, but quite tasty. When they finally finished the food, she was stuffed. Drinking the last of her beer and looking up at the clock on the wall, she realized just how much time had passed without her even realizing it.

 _What's the expression? Times flies when you're having fun?_ she thought to herself.

"You want anything else?" he asked. "More food? Another beer?"

Shaking her head at the thought of taking in anything else, she replied, "Not a chance. _I'm stuffed_."

"Good," he said with an approving nod.

"Thank you so much for bringing me here, and for all this." She waved her hands at the empty dishes. _It was so much better than an evening along in my safe house,_ she thought. "I _really_ appreciate it."

"My pleasure," he told her with a sincere smile. Really, she had no idea – she _couldn't_ have any idea – how very much he meant that. The fact that she was alive and there in front of him after so many years… it meant everything. "If you're ready to go, we can just stop at the bar and I'll pay, and we can get out of here."

Although going back to her safe house was one of the last things she wanted to do, this night had left her feeling so good that at least for the moment, she refused to let the idea of going back there spoil the glow she felt. She'd always known that she was going to end up there, and she needed to try to sleep at some point… and Weller certainly needed to go home and have a break from work. Somehow, it wasn't quite as bad to think about going back there now, after this outing.

They slid out of the booth and walked slowly back over to the bar, where Jake was talking to a couple at the far end. He came over momentarily, grinning at them. "So, how was everything, guys?" he asked, focusing on Jane.

"Everything was great, thanks," Jane replied, with Weller nodding alongside her.

"Glad to hear it," Jake replied. "You ready for the check, Weller?"

"I am," Kurt replied, handing Jake his card.

"I'll be right back," Jake told him, turning around and walking partway down the bar to pull up his bill on the computer and then swiping his card in the small terminal beside the monitor.

Behind him, Jane and Kurt leaned against the bar as they waited, only a small space between them. Now with a full stomach and feeling relaxed from the alcohol, Jane realized that she was starting to feel sleepy. Almost as soon as she realized this, she felt herself let out a yawn, only barely managing to cover her mouth with her hand before the yawn was almost over.

"I saw that," Kurt said beside her, leaning over slightly to nudge her shoulder with his. "It's about time I drop you off and get home myself. We both need some sleep." Seeing the frown cross her face, he added lightly, "We need to rest up. Who knows how we'll manage to almost die tomorrow."

"Haha," she replied, making her best attempt at a smile.

"How's the safe house?" he asked. Just from watching how her expression changed at the mention of going home, he got the feeling that she didn't like it.

With a shrug, she replied, "It's fine."

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

Shaking her head quickly, she replied, "No, it's fine, really. It's just… a place to sleep."

"It takes time…" he started, not knowing what else to say. "To settle in somewhere. I know it hasn't been easy… but it _will_ get better."

 _He keeps saying that,_ she thought, hoping that her frustration didn't show on her face.

 _And it's only been a few days,_ the voice in her head reminded her. _Give it a chance._

"Yeah," she managed, just as Jake came back with Weller's credit card.

"Thanks for coming in, man," he told Kurt. "And Jane, very nice to meet you."

"You, too, Jake," Jane said, her smile suddenly brighter as she looked at him than it had been a second before, but still not reaching her eyes.

"Thanks, Jake. Take care," Kurt said as they turned and walked back toward the front door. There was silence back the rest of the way to the car. He could feel Jane's anxiety just from walking beside her, and he was actively trying to think of something he could do or say to alleviate it.

"Hey," he said as they reached the car. "Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow? I know that Sarah would love to see you, and you could meet my nephew, Sawyer."

"Oh, uh… sure," she stammered in surprise. _Another_ evening where she didn't have to sit alone in her safe house? Another evening spending time with Kurt? Yes, that was definitely the more attractive of her two options. "I'd like that."

"Great," he said. "Nothing fancy, just an everyday dinner with my family. Well… not that we do it every day, since I'm not home a lot… but you get the idea."

Actually, Jane had no idea what a family dinner was like, but she didn't feel like pointing that out just then. She was so pleasantly surprised by the idea, it hardly even bothered her that it was just one more thing with which she had no experience.

He opened the car door for her, watching her smile at him gratefully as she climbed into her seat and noting that her anxiety seemed to have lessened. Of course, he couldn't change how she felt about her safe house, but at least he'd made her smile. They were quiet on the ride back to her place, Kurt focused on the road and Jane lost in her own thoughts as she stared out at the night. She had less than a week of memories, and everything still felt new, including the feeling of being mesmerized by the glow of the lights that they drove by in the darkened city.

He'd texted her detail that they were on their way before they'd left the bar, and he pulled up behind their car in front of her place. One of the two men, whose name he couldn't remember, was just coming back out of the front door. _He must have been making sure it was clear,_ Kurt thought. While he was glad that the man had had the foresight to do this, he was also disappointed. He would rather have cleared it himself, but now there was no need.

 _Calm down, Weller_ , the voice in his head urged him. _You're thinking too much about this. She's not five, and she's_ _ **not**_ _helpless. That agent knows what he's doing. Just say good night._

Jane looked out the window at her safe house and sighed, then turned back to look at Kurt. "Thanks for this evening. And for the ride," she said with a genuine smile. "It was fun." She was trying hard not to focus on the next part, where she had to actually go inside.

"My pleasure," he grinned back at her. "We'll have to do it again, if there's another evening when we're not busy saving the world."

"Well, if we save the world early enough in the day, like today, then that still leaves our evening free," Jane pointed out brightly.

"Of course," he chuckled. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Anyway," she continued, stifling another yawn and then taking a deep breath to gather the determination she needed to make herself go inside, "I'll see you in the morning." She pulled on the handle that released the door, and pushed it open, forcing herself to stand up before turning around to look back inside at him one more time. When she did, he was smiling up at her.

"Good night, Jane," he said, then stifled a yawn of his own. "Call me if you need anything."

Smiling back at him, she nodded. "I will. Good night." With that, she closed the door and forced herself to turn to "her" front door – which of course, really wasn't hers… nothing she had was _really_ hers, after all, but she tried hard not to think about that. The door was unlocked, her detail just having come out through it, so she let herself in, closing and locking the door behind her before turning around to look at the barren space in front of her.

 _Does it get better?_ she wondered. She hoped so. Thinking back to the evening at the bar that she'd just had, she told herself that yes, she was pretty sure that it did.

At least, that was what she was going to try her best to believe as she forced herself to walk tiredly in the direction of her bed. Sleep hadn't been her friend so far, but maybe that would get better, too. Only time would tell.


	40. Pretending

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 **Season 1, between episodes 4 and 5**

As she had expected, Jane hadn't slept well. By now it wasn't much of a surprise when she woke up groggy but unable to fall back to sleep around 4:00 am, having tossed and turned for many hours, sleeping only a little bit in between.

Sitting up now, the sheets pulled tightly around her as if two different people had been fighting over them and she had been the poor soul caught in the middle, she looked around at the room that still felt completely foreign to her. It had only been a few days since she'd moved in, after all, and to say that the furnishings were sparse was an understatement.

 _If only I could remember something…_ _ **Anything**_ _…_ she thought, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and leaning down to put her head in her hands.

 _But there are things you remember,_ the voice in her head reminded her.

 _That's not what I'm talking about,_ she thought in annoyance. _I mean about_ _ **before**_ _. About who I was._

 _You were Taylor Shaw,_ the voice reminded her.

 _But that doesn't_ _ **help**_ _,_ she replied, feeling her temper growing short. If anything, that made it worse. Having an identity that she couldn't remember was even more frustrating than no identity at all. Knowing her name and the little information that Weller had told her, she felt that she _should_ remember that time. _Any of it_. But still… _nothing_.

The mention of Kurt, however, seemed to change the subject of her thoughts. She remembered his face from the night before, watching her in the low lighting of the bar as he'd sat across from him. He was generally a serious guy, but less so when he left the office. Or was it just when no one else from work was around? When she thought about it, she recalled seeing a similar look on his face the few times they'd found themselves alone in the office, as well. One that she only saw when it was just the two of them. She couldn't help but wonder how many of his coworkers had ever seen that look… if any.

Her head began to clear slowly, and she opened her eyes to look around once again. With a sigh, she pushed herself to stand up and walk towards the bathroom to take a shower. As soon as she could get ready, she could ask her detail to take her back to the FBI. She'd rather be there, after all, than here. Even though there wasn't any more to do there than here, but at least there would eventually be other people in the office. Here, the silence was simply too loud, echoing in her ears no matter how she tried to tune it out.

 _Just take it one step at a time,_ she told herself. _Brush teeth. Shower. Get dressed. Then you can leave._

She hadn't factored in breakfast, for several reasons. First of all, she really wasn't hungry – stress seemed to have that effect on her, she noticed, and at the moment she was pretty stressed. But besides that, there wasn't anything in her house to eat, anyway. A few empty or almost empty take out containers littered the refrigerator, but not much else. Nothing that was remotely breakfast-like.

She was ready before 4:30 am, and she sat on the living room couch, debating whether it was ridiculous to go into the office so early. Basically, it was still the middle of the night. Surely she could just sit and watch something on TV for a while… But as the seconds ticked by, the knot that was growing in her stomach grew tighter and tighter, and in minutes she stood up, unable to stand it any longer. She simply had to get _out of there_.

When she emerged from her front door, turning around to lock it behind her, she saw the surprise in the two agents' faces. They got out of their car quickly, the man who'd been in the passenger seat stepping towards her quickly, looking slightly alarmed.

"Everything okay, ma'am?" he asked, his tone all business.

"What? Oh, yes. Sorry," Jane replied, momentarily confused. In took her a few seconds to realize that being up and out of the house this early would make her detail think that something was wrong. "I was just wondering if it was too early to, uh… to go back to the FBI?" She hated how helpless she felt, and how equally helpless she was sure she sounded.

"Absolutely, ma'am, no problem," the agent standing closer to her replied in the same even tone as before. "We just need to make one quick stop on the way, per Agent Weller's request."

Had it not been because Kurt had requested the stop, she may have thought to ask questions, but hearing his name, she simply nodded. "Sure," she replied. The agent opened the back door on the passenger side for her, and she climbed in, buckling her seatbelt as he closed the door behind her. While she didn't remember being a kid, she could only imagine that this was how a kid felt, being put in the backseat of the car while the adults rode up front.

The route between the FBI and her safe house was becoming vaguely familiar, and she recognized that they were almost there when the car pulled up along the curb in front of a café with a neon sign in the window that gleamed brightly in the darkness. _Open,_ it said. Once again, the agent on the passenger side jumped out, closing the door without a word.

"We'll be on our way shortly," the other agent told her, only glancing at her for a second before turning back around to face forward.

 _These two are a little short on conversation,_ Jane thought as she looked out the window absently, not even bothering to reply since the man in the front seat had already turned back around. Three minutes later, the agent who'd gotten out of the car opened the door and climbed back in. He handed his partner a large coffee cup, set one in the cup holder beside him, and then turned around and handed a third one in Jane's direction. For a few seconds, she looked at him, confused.

"Oh, no, that's okay, I mean, you didn't have to…" she stammered.

"Agent Weller's orders," the agent told her seriously. In her surprise that the coffee being offered to her had something to do with Kurt, she relented and took the cup. Next, the man turned back around and, a few seconds later, was handing her a paper bag with the same logo on it. "We were told to stop and make sure that you got breakfast," he told her without even a hint of a smile. "And that we were not to ask you what you wanted, just pick up several choices."

For a few seconds Jane was stunned, and then she began to smile. Weller's thoughtfulness, right down to the part about not asking her what she wanted, was rather touching. Now she sat back in her seat with her coffee and a bag that contained, upon inspection, three different pastries that she was unable to identify, other than the fact that one of them was some kind of muffin.

"Thank you… very much," Jane told them slowly, realizing that she had yet to thank the agents.

"Not at all, ma'am," one of them replied evenly as she took a sip of her coffee. In another few minutes they were pulling into the FBI parking garage, and stepping into the elevator shortly after that. Because of the early hour, they rode with her to the floor where she got off for the locker room before going back to the duties they assumed when Jane was in the building. She sometimes wondered which they preferred – sitting outside her house to keep watch, or sitting around in the FBI building – or if they had a completely different job while they were there. Did they have to fill out paperwork describing their every interaction with her? The thought made her shiver, making her feel less like a human being and more like merely an investigative tool.

It was a few minutes after 5:00 am when Jane opened her locker, hanging up her jacket and then just standing there for a minute, collecting her thoughts. She took another sip of her coffee, the warmth of which helped bring her back to the present. After the relatively unreal events of the last few days, what would _today_ bring? She could only wonder. Finally, closing her locker, she walked slowly through the empty hallway and then rode the elevator once again on her way to the bullpen outside Mayfair's office.

Unsurprisingly, no one else was there at that hour. Hard workers though they were, even Weller and his team didn't come in this early. Without much else to do, she sat down at one of the empty workstations where she'd sat in the past. It happened to be near Kurt's, and for whatever reason, that thought alone was soothing.

 _Okay, so, we're here… now what?_ the voice in her head asked. She had known when she left her house that there was nothing for her to do here by herself, but even so, she felt better here, for whatever reason. The knot in her stomach was gone, so even though there was arguably less to do here, she felt better. More relaxed.

Leaning forward, she folded her arms on the desk and then put her head down, her cheek leaning against her hand so that she was facing the elevator. She knew that she would probably fall asleep this way, but on the off chance that she didn't, she would see whoever came in next. It was as good a plan as any other, after all.

Now, though she'd been completely awake at home, her eyelids grew heavy quickly. She considered moving to one of the couches down the hall by Dr. Borden's office, but the effort simply seemed too great. No, she was falling asleep already – clearly a couch was unnecessary. Her last thought before sleep claimed her a few minutes later was to wonder who would be the next person to step out of the elevator that she was watching with sleepy eyes.

Like most of them did, morning had simply come too early as far as Kurt was concerned. As usual, from the moment he'd turned off his alarm, he'd gone into auto-pilot mode, stepping out of the elevator right around the same time as usual – just after 6:00 am. He had found that he liked to be the first one in the office in the morning. In the quiet that would last an hour or two at best, he found that he was more productive than any other part of the day, probably due to the fact that there were no distractions.

Today, however, when he stepped out of the elevator, he was greeted by a surprise. There at the workstation beside his, asleep on the desk, was Jane. He couldn't help but smile when he saw her there, even though he imagined that her back was going to hurt like hell when she woke up – his would have, after all, if he'd slept like that. He observed that the agents on her detail had done as instructed, because there was a large coffee cup and a paper bag from the same café sitting on the far corner of the desk. When he picked up the coffee, he guessed that she couldn't have had more than a few sips of it, because it felt pretty much full.

Chuckling to himself, he set it back down quietly, settling down at his desk beside her. Generally he liked being in the office by himself at this hour, but he was surprised to find that he didn't mind her presence at all. Quite the opposite, actually – when his glance occasionally landed on her, it made him smile. He couldn't help but wonder how long she would end up sleeping before she woke up again… which led him to wonder how long she'd _been there_ in the first place.

Slowly, the office began to come to life, as one by one, more staff began to arrive. This office seemed to wake up early, and by just after 7:00 am, there was a low hum of activity. Hearing her stirring beside him, Kurt looked over at Jane in amusement to see her sit up and look around slowly, as if in a daze.

"Good morning." She heard Kurt's voice, but it took her a few seconds to register who it belonged to, since it came from the opposite direction from the one she was facing. Turning slowly in his direction, she was greeted by his smile – the one that she felt like she only saw when no one else was around. While there were other people in and around the bullpen, no one else on their team seemed to be in the immediate vicinity just then.

She felt the corners of her mouth draw the rest of it into a smile, slowly but surely, as she continued to wake up. "Oh, uh, good morning…" she stammered, wondering exactly how long he'd been sitting there watching her. From his expression, he seemed extremely amused to have found her sleeping at the desk beside his.

"I swear I dropped you off at home so you could get some sleep _there_ ," he observed teasingly, continuing to smile at her.

"Oh, well, I did… I mean, sort of…" she replied awkwardly. "Then I woke up around 4:00 and I couldn't sleep anymore, so…"

"So you figured you'd come into the office and sleep some more?" he asked. There was a twinkle in his eye, but even so, she looked down self-consciously.

"Oh, uh, no, I mean, I know it was a little crazy to come in so early, and there isn't really anything for me to _do_ when no one else is here _,_ but…" She could feel her face turning pink. Maybe she _should_ have slept on the couch down by Borden's office, then Weller may not have known that she was in the office before he was. Her voice dropped to a whisper when she added, "I'm just… more comfortable here." She looked down at the desk in front of her, now feeling much _less_ comfortable than she had when she'd fallen asleep.

 _This was a stupid idea,_ she told herself.

But Kurt scooted his chair, which moved easily since it was on wheels, over closer to her. "Hey, Jane," he said, more quietly, only now realizing that she wasn't in the mood to be teased. The arm of his chair bumped against the arm of hers as he got as close as he could to her, the back of his chair against the desk at which he was sitting as he leaned over slightly to talk to her quietly. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

She turned and looked back up at him slowly, and the expression in his eyes told her that he was being sincere. For a few seconds, they just watched each other, before she nodded slightly, glancing down at his chair leaned against hers, and then back up into his eyes.

Strangely enough, he didn't feel like he was too close to her. If he'd been that close to anyone else… well, it was hard to say what would have happened, because he was unlikely to have found himself that close to anyone else in his office to start with, but he certainly would have put more space between them immediately. In this case, however, he glanced down to see the arm rests pressing against each other, and thought that it was strange how the chairs were as close together as they could get, and yet… he didn't actually feel like he was _that_ close to her.

 _Are you saying that you'd like to be_ _ **closer**_ _to her?_ the voice in his head asked with interest.

 _I'm saying,_ he replied in his head, _that…_ Then it occurred to him that he didn't actually know. _Did he_ want to move closer to her? It wasn't an impulse that he would have recognized, since he felt it so rarely. All he knew was that she looked upset, and he wanted to fix it.

She was still looking down, shaking her head slightly, as if to dismiss the need for his apology, but said nothing else.

"I'm sorry you had trouble sleeping," he added in a low voice, feeling even better about having had her detail stop to get her something to eat and some coffee. That was when he realized that it was probably cold by now, especially if she'd been in long before him. Standing up, he plucked the cup off of her desk. "I'll just go warm this up for you," he told her, walking away.

Only realizing what he'd said and what he was doing after he'd already walked away, she sat and watched him go in surprise. Every nice thing he did for her seemed to surprise her. She had to constantly remind herself that it was all because he thought he knew her. That she was supposed to be his childhood best friend. While she knew that that thought should make her feel better, the fact was that she remembered nothing about him from that time – or from any other time in her life more recent than the past four or five days, for that matter – actually made her feel worse, not better. She didn't know that person, after all… so how could she _be_ that person?

While she waited for him to return, she once again peered inside the paper bag that still sat on her desk. Her stomach churned unhappily at the sight of the food, registering its protest that she would even think about such a thing. No, she was definitely too stressed to eat at the moment. The best she was going to be able to do was to drink the coffee that Kurt had just walked away with.

A few minutes later, he reappeared with the familiar cup, setting it down in front of her. His face was still apologetic, and she almost felt as though the now warm coffee was some sort of peace offering. "Thanks," she told him quietly, taking a sip and then putting the cup down in front of her, keeping her eyes on it. She hated feeling like this… like her emotions were about to boil over at any second. The feeling had been almost constant so far, but that didn't make it any easier.

Though she'd expected him to go back to whatever he'd been doing at his desk, instead she continued to feel his eyes on her. After another minute, she looked back up at him and smiled weakly. She didn't know why he was looking at her with such concern.

He didn't know what else to say, but he found that once she looked up at him, he couldn't look away. It was the strangest thing, but he felt like as they looked at each other, they had an understanding of some kind that was completely separate from the words they had used.

The tension that she had felt began to lessen, and she felt herself relaxing once again. She knew that the familiarity that she felt around him wasn't "hers," necessarily, that it was only because he had known her as Taylor so many years ago, but she allowed herself to enjoy it all the same. After all, no one else knew her at all, and there was something addictive about the way he looked at her… she couldn't help but want more of that feeling. Even though she wasn't really Taylor – well, she _was,_ she knew, but she also _wasn't_ at the same time, since she didn't actually _remember_ being Taylor – surely it was okay if she let herself pretend…

"Hey, Weller," Zapata's voice cut through their thoughts as she approached his desk. He turned around to listen to her, moving his chair back over to his own workstation, while Jane simply tuned the two of them out, going back to staring at her coffee cup. She was more conscious of the fact that his chair was no longer pulled up beside hers than she would have expected to be, and after a minute she forced herself to look up, her eyes scanning the room to distract herself by watching the happenings around them.

Just then, she heard Kurt's phone _ding_ on his desk between them. She turned to see him glance at it, and watched as he smiled – first at the phone, then at Zapata, on the other side of him, and then finally at her. "Come on," he told both of them. "Patterson's got something."

"I'll get Reade," Zapata volunteered, darting toward the other end of the bullpen.

Kurt watched Zapata for a second as she went to collect her partner, and then his eyes moved back to find Jane's. For a second, they studied each other once again. "Okay?" he asked, to which she nodded, smiling slightly.

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Then let's go see what Patterson has for us," he told her as they stood up and started to walk in the direction of the blonde's lab.

It was a small thing, inconsequential almost, but she liked the feeling that she got from being included with the team. Of not having to fight for the right to stand in and listen to them work out their leads, or from going out into the field. It wasn't much of victory, she knew, but it was one of the only ones that she had won in the past few days. All things considered, she had to appreciate every victory that came her way, no matter how small.

As it turned out, what Patterson had found lead them back out into the field once again. To Jane, it already felt like they were constantly going out after what seemed like it would be the lead that would finally break the case wide open, that would give them a clue to what had happened to her, but at the end of the day, they always seemed to end up empty handed. She supposed that she felt it much more acutely than the others because first, she was the one with no memory of her life, and this case was about _her,_ and second, she had no past experience or perspective on how these investigations went, having no prior law enforcement experience… at least, none that she knew of. That thought made her sigh with frustration. It was exhausting to have to qualify absolutely everything with some variation of _not that I remember_.

Weller had sent Reade and Zapata to one end of Manhattan to interview a possible witness, while he took Jane along with him to check out another angle of the same lead. This division of labor had been working well so far, especially given that he seemed to go out of his way to be kind to her, while Reade remained aloof and even distrustful of her, and Zapata was still quite brusque. Yes, she far preferred to be partnered with Weller than either of the other two.

They'd been on the road for a few minutes in silence, Jane simply taking in the scenery of the city. It was all still new to her, after all, and there was simply _so much of it._ She hadn't even noticed the minutes elapsing as the scenery had flown by in front of her. It was easy to get lost in her thoughts when she was constantly so overwhelmed.

Kurt was the one to break the silence, after looking over at her several times. "Sarah is excited to see you tonight," he told her.

Jane was confused for a second, until she remembered that he had asked her the previous evening at the bar if she wanted to come over for dinner that night. It seemed like much longer ago than just the night before, but she supposed that that was what happened when you barely slept. The days were bound to feel longer when you were awake longer.

He had purposely not said, "Sarah is excited to meet you tonight," to describe dinner with Sarah, even though for Jane, that would be the case. No matter that Jane was a whole different person than the one they had known so many years ago, as far as Sarah was concerned, Jane was simply Taylor, their childhood friend. It hadn't really been possible to explain to his sister that this wasn't really the case, though she had nodded through his explanation and claimed to understand. From the look in her eyes, he could see that she didn't quite get it. He couldn't blame her, though, because it had been hard for him to wrap his mind around as well. Even now, he wasn't sure that he wasn't still projecting Taylor onto Jane, though he was _trying_ not to. It just wasn't that easy.

Because of this, dinner would be… _interesting_ , and perhaps a little awkward. Sarah was sweet but… well, she didn't have quite the tact that would have been helpful in this very strange situation. There wasn't much he could do about that. Family was family, after all. There was no specific reason for the two women _not_ to meet, and who knew, maybe it would jog something in Jane's memory. While that would, of course, be a good thing, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the idea that Jane might remember something about Sarah when she had remembered nothing about _him_. He and Taylor had been the ones who had been best friends all those years ago, after all. _He_ had been the one who had always done anything and everything for her, not Sarah.

 _Calm down,_ he told himself. _If she remembers_ _ **something**_ _, that's a good thing. Even if it's about Sarah._ Still, he couldn't shake his discomfort at the idea.

He'd made a point not to call Jane 'Taylor' so far, and she seemed to be comfortable with that. Or at least, she hadn't corrected him, nor did she look uncomfortable when he called her Jane. On the contrary, while there was always a lot of emotion in her eyes, many feelings swirled together whenever he looked at her, he hadn't noticed any indication that being called Jane bothered her. For some reason, he just felt sure that he would've noticed.

 _Because you've been staring at her so much, maybe?_ the voice in his head suggested.

Ignoring the voice, his thoughts moved on to how Sarah was going to deal with the Jane/Taylor issue – he wasn't sure exactly how things were going to go in that department. To Sarah, it was simple. Whether or not she remembered, Jane was Taylor, so Taylor was her name. He hadn't explicitly told her to call their old friend Jane, mostly because of how strange the request sounded in his head.

 _Hey Sarah, remember Taylor? Well, here she is, but call her 'Jane.'_

Though he'd explained the facts of the case to her, and felt as though he'd indirectly asked her to please call the woman who they'd known as Taylor 'Jane' instead, unfortunately he had a feeling that Sarah wasn't going to be able to help herself. He couldn't explain to her how he just _knew_ not to call her Taylor… Still, he hoped that it would be fine. If nothing else, he liked the idea of spending more time with Jane. Surely, it couldn't go _that_ badly…

If he wanted to look at it unselfishly, he could tell himself that he was helping her acclimate to her life and spend less time alone. He had no allusions, however, that the evening was for purely altruistic reasons. After all, he'd searched for her for twenty-five years, and even if she couldn't remember him, there was something about being around her that made him feel like the broken pieces of him were slowly fusing themselves back together. Suddenly, he just felt lighter somehow, even as the mystery of Jane, which was frustrating as hell because they never seemed to be able to catch a break, consumed him.

Smiling nervously, she turned and nodded in his direction. "You don't think it's too… _weird_?" she asked hesitantly. "It's not exactly easy to explain any of it…"

"Normally it's frustrating for both me and for Sarah, because I can't talk about work at home, but in this case I can be completely honest with her," he said in an attempt to reassure Jane, glancing at her quickly and then looking back at the road. "We know you're Taylor, and that's really _all_ we know. I'm not withholding anything, because we don't _know_ anything." Then, letting his more serious expression relax slightly, he smiled warmly at her before returning his eyes to the road. "If you want to change your mind, that's fine," he told her. "I know it's… awkward."

"No… I mean, yes… I mean…" Sighing in frustration, she tried again. "What I mean is, it's definitely awkward," she agreed. "But I don't want to change my mind." When he glanced at her again, his eyebrows raised, she added, "Really, I don't."

When he looked back at her, he looked so happy to hear her say that, and she couldn't help but wonder… Was he happy because he was having Taylor over for dinner, or Jane? Sometimes the way he looked at her, the way he talked to her… she couldn't tell. _"It's really nice to have you back,"_ he'd told her. As kind as it had been, that sentiment had been directed at someone else, someone she couldn't even remember. She was glad that it made him happy, and at the time she hadn't thought too much about it, because his smile was more than a little bit hypnotizing. But now… More and more, it all felt like a mess. She didn't want to _not_ be around him, because he was the only thing anchoring her in a sea of confusion, but at the same time, being around him made her feel like… an imposter in her own skin. She wasn't pretending to be Taylor, she didn't think, but he made her feel like she was. Not on purpose, but that didn't even matter.

He nodded, watching the road but smiling. "Just, full disclosure, Sarah is cooking… So just keep in mind that the food will be…" Kurt made a face as he searched for the right word. Not finding the word he was looking for, he started his sentence again. "Let's just say… I'm the cook in the family. But she's determined that she's going to make dinner, so…" He shrugged, adding, "Sorry."

"Hmmm," she said with a grin. "This wasn't part of your initial pitch, when you asked me to come over for dinner." He could hear the smile in her voice, and when he turned to glance at her, he saw her eyes sparkling in amusement. "You're not selling it very well right now."

"I just want you to know what you're getting into," he told her solemnly.

"Well, she has to be a better cook than I am, since I can't cook _anything_ ," Jane reasoned.

 _If Sarah is better than I am, and Weller already thinks she's a terrible cook…_ The thought materialized out of nowhere.

 _Why in the world would that matter?_ she asked herself. _He's not expecting you to cook him anything!_ Still, the thought unsettled her. _Well, just add it to the list of things you don't know,_ she told herself in frustration.

"And besides, it has to be better than staying home alone," she added, seeming to only stop to consider her words after they'd flown out of her mouth. _Dammit,_ she thought, but what was done was done. She didn't want to complain. He'd done so much for her already, and she didn't want to sound ungrateful. After all, he didn't have to do half the things he did for her.

He didn't seem to notice her dismay at her own comment, probably because he was already distracted by what she had said. Indeed, even the vague reference to her safe house made him think of something else that he'd been meaning to ask her. "That reminds me," he began.

Immediately, she knew that she wasn't going to like whatever he was about to say. Whatever the mention of her not liking to be home alone reminded him of, she had a feeling that it wasn't something that she would want to talk about.

"What time did you get into the office this morning?" he asked her curiously. His tone was casual, but her stomach was immediately in knots. Then something strange happened. For whatever reason, when he glanced at her as he waited for her to answer she felt herself begin to relax.

"Oh, uh… I guess it was sometime after… 5:00," she told him haltingly. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was a stupid thing to lie about. What was the point, when he could simply ask her detail, or pull up video surveillance? He was trusting her to tag along with his team, but he could just as easily not have done so, so it didn't seem right to lie to him.

They pulled up to a traffic light, and he was able to look over at her for more than a few seconds. He studied her carefully, and after a few seconds she felt herself enjoying the attention just a little less. The longer he watched her, the more self-conscious she felt. From his expression, it almost looked as though he wanted to ask her something, but couldn't figure out how to say it.

Finally, just before the light changed again, he seemed to settle on a simpler line of inquiry than the one she could see churning behind his eyes. "Is everything okay?" he asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"I mean… it's as okay as I guess it can be…" she replied with a shrug, glancing down, and then back up at him. "Why?"

The car was moving again now, so his eyes were back on the road, but he did smile, aiming the look in her direction for a second. "Well, you know, generally arriving at work around 5:00 am and then sleeping on your desk… Well, it isn't something most people do. It could be considered a sign that… something is wrong."

It wasn't a criticism, she knew, simply a statement of fact. Even as little as she remembered about the world, she knew that her routine wasn't normal. Nothing about her was normal, really. And yet, so far it was the only way she could make sense of things, for some reason.

"Yeah." A heavy sigh escaped her then. "Even I know that much," she replied, looking down at her lap again. "I guess it's less about identifying what's wrong and more about picking _which_ thing that's wrong that's making me do it."

Now Kurt was upset with himself. Even though what he'd said had been merely an innocent observation, it had seemed to deflate her. That had obviously not been his goal.

"Jane, I didn't mean anything by it… I just… All I meant was…" He stopped and sighed in frustration. "If there's something I can do to help, just tell me," he insisted. "After you, I was the first one who got in this morning – I usually am – and I saw you first, around 6:00. I just… I guess… no, I _know_ that I'm a little extra worried about you. I can't help it after everything…" He frowned, not finishing his sentence. "I just want to help. That's all I meant." Then, smiling sadly over at her quickly once again, he added, "I'm not saying I didn't enjoy your early morning company."

"You mean, while I slept with my head on the desk?" she asked, slowly looking back up at him and attempting to make a joke at her own expense.

"Even while you slept on the desk," he replied, smiling at the memory of sitting beside her and glancing at her over and over again while she slept. "And yes, I know how silly that sounds."

For some reason, that made her smile, too. She couldn't explain why, because it really wasn't funny, of course. There was just something about the way he said it, as though even though he was joking, he was also serious.

The car came to a stop along the curb just then. "We're here," he told her. "Let's go have a look around." Now that the car was stopped again, and this time it was parked, he could look over at her and hold her gaze for several seconds in a row. "Okay?"

It felt like he was asking her several things at once just then – whether she was ready to go inside as well as whether or not she was actually okay after their previous conversation. Looking into his eyes confirmed this suspicion. Or at least, that was what it seemed like he was asking her. So far, there always seemed to be questions in his eyes when he looked at her.

 _Well, that makes sense, since almost everything about you is a question,_ the voice in her head reminded her. _Except being Taylor, anyway._

That thought made her recoil ever so slightly. As relieved as she was to have one answer, and as much as she liked that she had a connection to Weller, it was confusing. After all, she knew less about herself than he did – far, far less, in fact – and that was unsettling at best. She was jealous of all of the memories he had of them as kids, and at the same time, the more he looked at her that way – like the long lost friend that she was supposed to be – the more uncomfortable she felt. How could she be someone that she couldn't even _remember_?

 _It's fine,_ she told herself, attempting to silence her racing thoughts. _It's fine_.

"Yeah, let's go," she said out loud, hoping that her thoughts weren't showing on her face, and that he wasn't somehow reading them. He seemed unnervingly good at that.

As he came around the car to the sidewalk she was just closing the car door, and they fell in step beside each other easily on their way to the entrance of the building they were there to check. There was a feeling of common purpose between them, and it made her feel a little better. She wasn't just sitting by, waiting for them to find the answers _for_ her, she was doing something to try to _help_ solve this tangled mystery. They happened to glance at each other at the same time, both smiling at the other, and she felt a boost in her confidence.

No, she wasn't entirely okay, he could tell, but really, it wasn't surprising – after all, she was dealing with a million different things at once, and he couldn't begin to imagine how hard it all was for her. It was clear that she was _trying_ , however, and he consoled himself with the fact that he was going to be there, watching out for her every step of the way. It felt like the least he could do, all things considered.

But for the time being, all of their various apprehensions about that night's dinner, their thoughts about Taylor and everything else that wasn't specifically related to the task at hand – checking out the building that they now stood in front of – would have to wait.

Hopefully, this would be where they would find some answers.


	41. Who Is Jane?

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 **Season 1, between episodes 4 and 5**

Unfortunately, the lead that they were following up on at that building had been a dead end, though it had taken them a few hours to rule out all of the possible suspects. When they had finally finished questioning everyone present, finished searching the building, and had exhausted every possible angle from which this lead could have given them something, the depth of Jane's unhappiness was not lost on him. Kurt would have given anything to be able to stop her from looking so sad… and yet, there was nothing that he could do about the fact that this lead was just a dead end… Except to keep pushing and find another lead, like he always did.

She was discouraged and exhausted, and she knew that she probably looked as miserable as she felt. She simply didn't have the will to be optimistic just then. She tried to keep up a brave face, but just then, it looked so hopeless… When her eyes had happened to meet his for a second on the way back to the car, she'd gotten the distinct feeling that he somehow knew everything that was going on in her head. Once again, despite how connected she felt to him, it was unsettling that he seemed to know her so well, but that she didn't know _either_ of them at all. After that accidental glance, she tried to keep her despair to herself by avoiding his eyes, keeping hers down as she studied the pavement in front of her.

Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if she'd been sleeping well at night, but sleep had so far failed to provide her with any relief. She had a fleeting idea that maybe she would go back to the FBI and nap on one of the couches there, assuming that nothing else came up in the case in the next few hours. While she had trouble even considering the idea of sleeping at her safe house, the thought of sleeping on a couch in the office, for some reason, almost seemed comforting.

 _Well it's certainly better than sleeping at your desk,_ the voice in her head inserted annoyingly. _Not that you have your_ _ **own**_ _desk…_ Her jaw tightened in frustration at the unwelcome reminder. Hell, she didn't have her own _anything_ , not even her own _memories_. Every scrap of clothing, every single item she had, had been issued to her by the FBI. She had Kurt trying to jog her memory of childhood by telling her stories… which she appreciated, but it hadn't worked so far. No, not even her _thoughts_ were her own. It was an understatement to say that it was not a nice feeling.

 _Go back to the part where you were just worried about not having your own desk,_ the voice urged her. If only it worked that way – if only she could pick out which things she was going to worry about, and focus only on the smaller ones that didn't leave her feeling so… overwhelmed. Not having her own desk was disorienting, but didn't make quite as much of a statement about the state of her life as the fact that she had literally _nothing_ of her own – not even a pair of socks. Even the bag that they'd found her in had been logged in as evidence.

The fact that she avoided his eyes didn't go unnoticed by him, of course. As he watched her stare down at the pavement, he didn't know exactly what was bothering her – though he had a pretty good guess – only that she was not okay. Really, considering what she was going through, it wasn't surprising. It was a matter of _which_ of many things might be bothering her, after all, or even _how many_ of them. He tried not to stare at her, but he was most definitely keeping an eye on her.

 _Concern. Obsession. Whatever you want to call it,_ the voice in his head said, not buying his insistence that his level of concern for her was completely normal, no matter how much he protested.

Now settled back in the car, the two of them still had yet to say anything since Kurt said goodbye to the last man that they'd questioned, thanking him for his time. He'd been more than willing to help, but sadly just hadn't known anything that was useful to them.

"I'm sorry we didn't learn anything here," he told her sincerely, turning to look at her. She just shook her head, feeling him looking at her but staring out the window in front of her, refusing to meet his eyes. For good measure, she closed hers, not even wanting to see him in her peripheral vision just then. Never mind the short time she had known him, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to hold back the flood of disappointment she felt if she looked at him just then.

"It's not your fault they didn't know anything," she whispered, opening her eyes again quickly when, to her dismay, she felt tears leak out of the corners of them, pressed out by the slight pressure of her eyelids closing. Instead, with a sigh she turned and looked out the passenger window. Anywhere but at him.

It _wasn't_ his fault, of course, and yet he couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself. This wasn't a new thing for him. He'd spent the last twenty-five years feeling responsible for Taylor's disappearance, no matter how many times people had told him that it wasn't his fault. Maybe that was _why_ he felt as responsible as he did this time – feeling guilty for something that wasn't his fault had become second nature to him over time. Or maybe it was because he so desperately wanted to fix things for her that he was just putting too much pressure on himself.

"Jane," he said, then waited for her to look at him. When she didn't, he reached out his right hand, resting it on her left shoulder. For a second she tensed in surprise, but after a second he felt the tension leave as she relaxed again. His thumb moved ever so slightly against the skin that covered her collarbone, just inside the neck of her shirt, the rest of his fingers curling around onto her upper back, moving slightly as well.

She found that it was necessary to remind herself to breathe, in and out slowly and evenly. Even as numb and overwhelmed as she felt by it all, at the same time her heart was racing. After a few seconds she allowed herself to turn her head to look at him, moving at a snail's pace and trying to keep her expression even, but fairly sure that her eyes were betraying her.

"Let's go back and find another lead," he said kindly. "There's going to be more, it's just a matter of finding them." There was no question in his mind that he would get to the bottom of whatever had happened to her, no matter how long it took. He'd already spent twenty-five years devoted to finding her, after all. However, for her sake he hoped that it wouldn't take nearly that long.

Jane couldn't help but think of the way that each of their leads had seemed to go up in smoke so far, just when it seemed like they had something. It was hard to understand where Weller's determination came from… but then again, he was the one who did this for a living. Maybe she was just discouraged because she was frustrated. She _wanted_ to believe him… Forcing a half smile onto her face, even though she could feel that it was weak at best, she nodded at him.

"Okay," she whispered, and he squeezed her shoulder just a little tighter. He was surprised when he felt her lean towards him slightly, sighing heavily. Despite the fact that she was trying to smile, she just looked so sad and defeated. Unfortunately, he knew that feeling well, and it only increased his determination to find the answers that she needed.

She felt her smile weakening and knew that she couldn't hold it much longer, and that she couldn't continue to look in his eyes without being overwhelmed with emotion. He seemed to have that effect on her constantly, and just then she couldn't quite hold herself together. She closed her eyes, not wanting to turn away from him when his hand was on her shoulder. Now focusing solely on breathing in and out, she once again noticed the very slight movements of his fingers against her, and tried to focus exclusively on that sensation, nothing else.

A few minutes later she opened her eyes, feeling a little calmer. She still didn't understand how he always seemed to have that effect on her. Slowly, she smiled at him. It wasn't a big smile, but it was a genuine one. They sat and looked into each other's eyes for a few minutes, before it started to feel slightly awkward. Not wanting to, but knowing that he should, he slowly withdrew his hand from her shoulder and smiled back at her, turning forward in his seat and finally starting the car.

They rode the rest of the way back to FBI Headquarters in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. It wasn't until they were parked in the garage once again, just before they'd opened the doors to get out of the car, that he broke the silence.

"Are we still on for dinner tonight?" he asked, wondering if maybe she had changed her mind.

Despite everything swirling in her head, she hadn't had any thoughts of changing her mind about dinner. That wasn't about the case, after all, just about company. The smile that she pointed in his direction then felt easier than any of the ones that she'd had to force in the past few hours, which she decided was a good sign.

"Yeah," she replied, "Still on."

"Good," he replied simply, relieved.

They both got out of the car and walked back through the silent garage, distant noises echoing around them. He tried not to stare at her, but knew that he wasn't doing a great job. When they finally exited the elevator into the bullpen, Mayfair beckoned Kurt into her office almost immediately, leaving Jane the perfect opportunity to slip away.

She ended up exactly where she'd envisioned herself earlier, on one of the couches outside Dr. Borden's office. His door was closed, for which she was grateful. She didn't feel like answering questions about _how_ she was doing, or _what_ she was doing just then, no matter if they were formal or just conversational.

Curling up on the couch farthest from his office door, she closed her eyes and told herself to go to sleep. She hadn't gone far, and she was relatively confident that if they were looking for her, they'd still be able to find her there. Before she even had time for another thought, she'd fallen asleep.

Several hours later, she woke up stiff and disoriented. It took her a few seconds to recognize her surroundings, and to remember how she'd ended up there. Once it started coming back to her, she wondered how long she'd been asleep. Glancing around the area, she didn't see a clock anywhere, but based on the fact that she could still hear the same distant hum of activity from down the hall, she didn't think that it was late enough that people had started leaving for the day.

 _Not that that means much,_ she thought. _With how much people work around here, all that means is that it's still before 8:00 pm or so._

Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she sighed heavily. Relief from her frustration seemed to only come in the seconds just before and just after sleep, when her mind was relaxed enough to forget. Now that she was waking up, she remembered the events of that morning all over again.

 _It's a novelty… remembering,_ she decided. _And yet… what little I can remember doesn't help. All it does is remind me to be frustrated about the things I_ _ **can't**_ _remember._

There was nothing to do but stand up again and force her feet to steer her back down the hall toward the bullpen. There, she looked around to see the team at their workstations, all three of them staring at their computer monitors, concentrating intently. Sitting down uncertainly in the chair where she'd fallen asleep that morning, beside Kurt, she glanced carefully at the screen that Kurt was looking at to see what he was doing. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, smiling.

"Hey, I wondered what happened to you," he said, "Everything okay?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. I just… took a nap on the couch outside Dr. Borden's office." It was a little uncomfortable admitting that that was where she'd been, since it wasn't as though anyone else was just going to lie down and take a midday nap in the middle of the office, so she was grateful when he just nodded as though it wasn't a surprise at all.

"Good," he replied, to her surprise. "You must have needed it." His eyes focused back on the monitor in front of him, and his expression became serious once again. Sighing and shaking his head, he exhaled loudly and scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to dispel the tiredness he felt. No one on the team had yet found another lead to follow up on. After the morning had only led to dead ends for both himself and Jane, as well as Zapata and Reade, everyone was a little exasperated.

"Is it always this frustrating?" she asked him.

He looked back over at her, processing her question. Of course, this was the only investigation she'd seen, so she had nothing with which to compare it. "Not always, but sometimes," he replied. "It just depends. Some we're able to solve faster than others. Some drag on and it feels endless. We don't tend to get anything _easy_ , though. My team…" He paused, grinning slightly to himself. "We have a reputation for solving the tough ones, so that's what they give us."

The obvious pride in his voice and his face made her smile, and it gave her hope. She could see that they were good at what they did, despite their lack of success on _her_ case so far. It still gave her a boost of confidence knowing that the people on her case were known for solving the ones that others couldn't.

Glancing at his watch, Kurt shook his head and closed what he was looking at on his screen, clicking in the bottom left corner to shut down the system. He leaned back in his chair, pushing it back slightly from the desk, and sighed. "Well, I'm going to get out of here early, since I'm getting nowhere with this. I'm afraid to leave Sarah completely in charge of prepping dinner, or we may all die of food poisoning," he told Jane with a smirk.

She couldn't help but chuckle at that. _Surely his sister's cooking can't be_ _ **that**_ _bad, can it?_ she wondered.

Beside her, Kurt stood up. "There's not much going on right now except us all sitting here, being frustrated," he told her. "If you want know knock off early, too, you can." He had a feeling she would decline the privilege, but he just wanted her to know that it existed.

As predicted, Jane smiled but shook her head. She stood up as well, once again bringing their faces almost eye level with each other. "I'll go see Patterson for a while," she told him instead of coming right out and saying that she didn't want to go back to her safe house. "So I'll see you in a few hours?"

"Did I give you the address?" he asked, suddenly remembering that that might be an important detail.

"Oh, uh, no," she laughed. "I guess that might help."

He leaned over his desk and scribbled down his address on a scrap of paper, then straightened up and handed it to her. "So I'll see you later," he told her.

"Sounds good," she replied, smiling, pushing the paper into her pocket.

Behind them, Reade and Zapata just exchanged glances, listening intently.

Kurt turned to leave, took one step and then turned back. "Call me if… if you need anything."

Jane smiled at him, amused by the nonspecific offer. It was sweet of him, even if she couldn't think of anything that she would need.

He smiled at her once more, and then turned and walked toward the elevator. Jane didn't even realize that she was standing there watching him walk away, but Reade and Zapata didn't miss it. She managed to tear her eyes away from him before he pressed the elevator button and turned to look back at her over his shoulder as he waited for it to arrive.

As he stood and waited, he watched Jane, not even realizing that was what he was doing. She stood in front of her computer, leaning down and staring at the screen intently as she clicked on the screen with the mouse. It wasn't much of a surprise to him when he realized that he was smiling as he watched her. After all, he had noticed that he smiled a lot because of her.

The loud _ding_ told him that the elevator had arrived and he managed to force himself to turn back around and focus on where he was going, instead of across the room at Jane. Stepping into the elevator and turning around to face the not yet closed doors, he quickly located her again, now moving across the bullpen in the direction of Patterson's lab. Just before the doors closed, she glanced in his direction, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a second, both of them smiling at the other. It was a split second in time, but the connection he felt from it was much bigger.

Over the next few hours, Jane did her best to kill time. She hung around to talk to Patterson, taking advantage of the blonde's chattiness. Patterson, of course, was more than happy to talk to Jane as she worked, explaining to her what she was seeing as she went through the images. Before Jane knew it, it was almost time to head over to Weller's place. So when Patterson announced that she needed to get a few things together and go talk to Mayfair, Jane took that opportunity to say goodbye to Patterson and walk back down the hall toward the elevator.

As she approached the large metal doors, even though it was from a different angle than the one from which she'd watched Kurt a few hours before, it was almost like she could see him standing there, looking over his shoulder and smiling at her. _Stop it_ , she told herself. She couldn't give herself a _reason_ why she should stop imagining him there in front of her, only that the thought made her blush slightly, and therefore she felt like the professional thing to do was to try not to see him there.

 _Besides,_ she reminded herself for the umpteenth, _when he looks at me, he doesn't see_ _ **me**_ _… whoever that is. Jane. He only sees Taylor._ The thought stung, and it was enough to wipe the smile off of her face, leaving her deep in thought. She hated to admit it, but it was the truth.

 _But you_ _ **are**_ _Taylor,_ her mind protested.

 _Physically, yes,_ she replied in her head, _but not in the way he wants me to be. Not in the way he_ _ **needs**_ _me to be._

This argument continued all the way to the locker room, where she got her jacket and closed her locker, still distracted by the idea that she was not the person that Kurt had invited for dinner. It was a never ending argument, of course, because she both was and wasn't that person at the same time.

Downstairs she met up with her detail, who were waiting for her as usual. If they thought that it was strange to be taking her to Weller's place, they made no indication of it. Though she usually felt uncomfortable with the professional silence that they maintained when she was in the car with them, for once she was thankful that beyond a, "Good morning, ma'am," or "Good night, ma'am," or whatever the appropriate greeting was at that time of day, they didn't try to make small talk with her. As they rode in blissful silence towards Kurt's neighborhood, Jane continued to worry. The noise in her head more than made up for the lack of conversation.

As a matter of fact, she was still stewing over the fear that she was not the person that Kurt had wanted to come over for dinner, because she was Jane and not Taylor, when she reached the front door of his building.

It was a quiet evening, and there was no traffic in his neighborhood except for the occasional passing car and the distant hum of the city in the background. She hesitated at the door, but her detail was there with her, and when one of them stepped around her to open the door and clear the lobby area, she couldn't help but wonder what she would have done, had she been there alone. If it had been just her, she may have simply stood and looked up at the door apprehensively for who knew how long.

 _There's nothing to be nervous about,_ she reminded herself. _You're comfortable with Weller. You see him practically all day, every day. You're known him for almost exactly as long as your memory goes back._

 _Which sounds more impressive than it actually is,_ she thought snidely. _It hasn't even been a week yet._

 _Just go inside,_ she told herself. _There's nothing to be nervous about. For a few hours, just try not worrying about anything._

With that, she took a deep breath and joined her detail inside, where they'd already cleared the lobby and were looking at her expectantly.

 _Just keep putting one foot in front of the other,_ she reminded herself as she walked to the elevator, one of the men in front of her and one behind her.

Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the door to his apartment, her detail having left her at the last corner, though she could feel them watching her from there. She couldn't help wondering if she could go through with this. She didn't want to _not_ show up, both because it had been so nice of him to invite her, and because her safe house wasn't exactly an attractive alternative to spending the evening with him. Still… she couldn't help feeling nervous. After all, this wasn't _just_ Kurt, who saw her as Taylor, but it was about to be his sister, Sarah and her son, Sawyer, as well. It was bad enough having to be Taylor to one person, but to three? Two of whom actually _remembered_ her as Taylor? It felt like a lot of pressure.

Kurt had been trying to keep Sarah somewhat calm as she'd gotten things ready for dinner, also attempting to oversee her dinner preparations without making it obvious that that was what he was doing. She didn't want his help, he knew, but he was determined to give it to her anyway. Sarah had been chatting excitedly about Taylor, and about how happy she was to see the weight of so many years lifting off of him, and on and on. While he suddenly realized that it was true, he _did_ feel lighter since Jane had shown up, he gritted his teeth slightly when he heard Sarah talk about it that way. He had trouble putting his finger on what exactly was bothering him, because she wasn't _wrong_ – he _was_ feeling better. Finally, he decided that it was because she kept talking about "Taylor," not "Jane."

"You know she's still going by 'Jane,' not 'Taylor,'" he told his sister carefully. He knew how unlikely it was that Sarah was going to internalize this difference, in the same inexplicable way that he knew that he should call her Jane. Understanding subtleties in a particular situation had never been Sarah's strong point.

"I know, I know, you said that…" Sarah replied, rolling her eyes. She stopped moving then, something she hadn't done in hours, and looked at him carefully. "That still doesn't make sense to me. That's not her name. And you found out that she's _Taylor_ … not Jane." Sarah spit out the name _Jane_ as if it tasted bad.

Once again, he tried to explain it to her. "She doesn't remember being Taylor," he began, ready to start the same explanation over again.

"I know, you've said that," Sarah said in exasperation. "But she doesn't have memories of being named Jane, either. So why is she okay with that name?"

He paused, not having thought about it that way. "Well," he replied slowly, thinking out loud. "Maybe because she's just already gotten used to being called Jane. She's been through a lot in these few intense days since she got here. Having one name and then suddenly being told she's someone else… and especially because she has me telling her all about herself as Taylor… To her Taylor is a stranger, and that's got to be incredibly stressful – to have someone who's basically a stranger know you so well, and not remember any of it yourself. It sounds strange to _us_ , but there's really no way for us to understand how she feels."

Sarah nodded, but he could see that she only sort of got what he was trying to explain, at best. To her, things were just far more cut and dry. Jane's real name was Taylor, and therefore she was Taylor – end of story. Suddenly he wondered if this had been a good idea. After all, he'd asked her on a whim, and obviously hadn't anticipated that it would be this complicated.

Glancing at her watch, Sarah let out a yelp. "She's going to be here any minute!" she exclaimed. "I need to finish getting everything ready!" And with that, the whirlwind of activity that was his sister Sarah moved past him, leaving him standing in the middle of the kitchen, hoping that this evening wasn't about to be a disaster.

When the knock at the door sounded, Sarah had been literally standing in front of it, ready and waiting to swing it open. So far, all she knew from Kurt was that Taylor had been found, alive but without a single memory of her life, and covered in strange tattoos. That was more than enough to make her rabidly curious, and she'd been delighted when Kurt had said that he'd invited her over for dinner. Sarah had always been the excited one of the two siblings, while Kurt had been the intense one. But just then, excited didn't begin to explain how she felt about seeing their childhood friend in the flesh for the first time in twenty-five years.

Jane had expected there to be a few seconds from the time she knocked until the time the door opened, and she was surprised when Sarah pulled the door open immediately, beaming at her.

"Oh, my God, I can't believe it," Sarah gushed, taking a short breath before going on.

Jane's eyes darted from Sarah to the floor nervously several times. _Why did I agree to this again?_

"It's you, it's like... it's like really you," Sarah went on, as Jane stood in the doorway.

Behind Sarah, Jane saw Kurt walking slowly toward the door. His eyes were fixed on her and there was a small but warm smile on his face. Seeing him, she felt the panic subside slightly.

"Come on in, come on in," Sarah continued, stepping aside to let Jane pass and then turning around to close the door.

"Okay," Jane mumbled, stepping inside. While Sarah closed the door behind them, Jane's eyes went immediately to Kurt, who was watching her intently.

He couldn't help but feel like he should somehow save Jane from his sister. She had an almost deer in headlights look in her eyes, after all.

In the few seconds while Sarah was occupied, Jane and Kurt shared an unspoken greeting and short conversation, their eyes locked on each other.

 _Hi, I'm here… and I'm already overwhelmed,_ she told him. _Are you sure this was a good idea?_

 _I'm glad you made it, and… I'm sorry,_ he replied. _I'm not going anywhere though. Hang in there._

"My God, you are, like, so pretty," Sarah continued to gush, and then after only a second's hesitation, prefaced simply by, "Come here," she pulled Jane in for what Kurt thought may have been the most awkward hug he'd ever witnessed, Of course, _he_ had hugged Jane on numerous occasions, but he had _not_ done it within two minutes of "meeting" for the first time. Or… maybe meeting was the wrong word, but that was the idea. After all, to Jane, everyone had been a stranger.

 _No, within the first few minutes after the two of_ _ **you "**_ _met," she had her hand on your face,_ the voice in his head observed. Even though he'd been uncomfortable at the time, he couldn't help but remember the strange feeling… what had felt like low voltage electricity that had run through him. It had been strangely soothing even while it had simultaneously been wildly unnerving to him – after all, he generally kept people at arms' length, literally and figuratively, so to have her put her hand on his hand, and then his cheek... he would have expected to hate it, and he had… but at the same time he _hadn't_.

Back in the present, he smiled at the memory, watching Jane as she looked down at the floor, trapped inside Sarah's hug for a few seconds before the two stepped back. A second later, the timer in the kitchen _ding_ ed.

"Sorry, that's dinner," Sarah realized aloud, turning around at the sudden sound and glancing at Kurt, who just nodded his confirmation, hoping that it would be edible. She spun back around to look at Jane. "Excuse me." She walked away, calling "Sawyer, dinner time!" as she moved farther inside the apartment.

Kurt remained where he'd been standing through the whole exchange, a few feet away from Jane, and they both glanced after Sarah for a second before their eyes returned to each other. Their expressions mirrored each other – they smiled shyly but intensely, and for just a second she forgot that they weren't alone in the apartment. Seeing him in his home felt very different to her than seeing him at work. It felt very intimate, but in a completely innocent way. That strange feeling, that they had a strong connection, felt even stronger here.

On top of being nervous about whether Kurt, knowingly or not, had only wanted her there because she was Taylor and not Jane, she'd also been nervous about meeting Sarah. So far his sister seemed very nice, if a little awkward. Still, Jane felt overwhelmed just then, so she tried to focus on Kurt. As always, he was the only thing that gave her a feeling of familiarity.

"It smells good," she said quietly, holding eye contact with him and trying not to look as nervous as she felt.

"No… it doesn't," he corrected her, shaking his head emphatically but with a smile on his face, even though he wasn't sure their dinner would be edible.

"No it doesn't," she admitted with a grin, looking down.

They still hadn't moved from where they'd been standing just inside the door.

"No," Kurt reiterated, watching Jane. She seemed to be taking in her surroundings nervously. "Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"Okay," she replied, nodding quickly at the suggestion.

Having no idea what to expect, Jane was on edge. After all, there were so many unknowns. Yes, being around Kurt was relatively easy, not only because she had a surprisingly high comfort level with him and they'd already worked together intensely over the past week or so, but also because he was very sensitive to her situation. He went out of his way to reassure her, and he'd quickly learned what topics she was more or less comfortable with.

Sarah, on the other hand… she seemed nice, but beyond that, Jane had no idea what to expect. Kurt had undoubtedly told Sarah that she was Taylor, but since she had no memory of being that girl, she wasn't sure how she would measure up to Sarah's expectations any more than she could measure up to Kurt's – which was not at all.

Sarah had disappeared into another room, likely to find Sawyer for dinner. "Come on in," he told her, gesturing into the rest of the apartment, "Let's find you that drink." He wanted to reach for her, but managed to stop himself at the last moment, not sure whether that would make her more or less nervous.

She followed him a few steps as he turned around and walked into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway as he walked to the counter beside the refrigerator, where three wine glasses stood next to a bottle that had already been opened. He filled all three glasses halfway with white wine, set the bottle back down and picked up two of them, walking the few steps back across the kitchen towards her. This time he stopped with only half of the distance between them than he had a few minutes ago, when she'd been talking to Sarah, and handed her a glass.

"Thanks," she said softly as he smiled at her again. It was hard not to notice how much more broadly he was smiling here than he usually did at work, even when he looked at her at work. It made sense though, since he was probably more comfortable in his own home.

Sarah and Sawyer reappeared from the other room, and Jane heard Sarah asking her son if he'd washed his hands. The boy groaned and disappeared again, into the bathroom, the noise and the dramatic expression on his face making both Jane and Kurt chuckle as they all walked slowly towards the table. "Jane, why don't you sit here," Sarah said, as if thinking hard about the seating arrangement for the four of them. "Kurt, you sit over there." She indicated the seat across from Jane, so that she would be in between them at the round table. Sawyer would be across from her.

For a second he felt concerned about letting Sarah sit between them, as if he could have somehow have better protected Jane from something that his sister might say to make her uncomfortable if he was sitting beside her. He knew that this didn't make sense, however, so he simply nodded and moved around to the other side of the table as Jane sat down in her assigned spot. He wondered fleetingly what the logic was behind the seating arrangement, but didn't have any reason to argue, so he accepted it. It didn't really matter, after all. At least, he hoped not.

When he was settled across from her, Kurt looked up to find Jane looking at him, her eyes extra bright, as they had been since she walked in, probably trying to make sense of the new surroundings and new people. He glanced down at his glass and took a sip of wine so that he wasn't simply staring at her, then looked up to see her eyes dart around the room before she also sipped her wine. Finally, she looked back up at him and smiled nervously.

Sarah was back in the kitchen, taking plates out of the cupboard. Kurt's face shifted in amusement, his eyes locked on Jane for another second, then he stood back up and walked into the kitchen. "May I help you with that, Sarah?" he asked as he walked in behind her, and she turned around in surprise.

"No no, I've got everything under control," she admonished him. "Go back out there and sit down. Oh, and since you're here, take this with you." She handed him the bottle of wine, and he reached around her and took her glass as well.

"If you insist," he said with a grin, walking right back to the table and setting down the bottle and his sister's glass at her place. In his chair once again, he looked up at Jane with a smile, which she returned, and then each took another sip of wine.

Sarah made a few trips but brought everything to the table, refusing offers of help from both Jane and Kurt. To their credit, they were both slightly on edge but trying their best to relax. After all, so far things seemed to be going fine. A few times, Jane glanced up at Sawyer, who always seemed to be watching her intently. His expression was curious but serious, notably without a smile as he watched her. For some reason, the nine year old's intense scrutiny made Jane nervous, and she smiled at him each time but looked away quickly.

Finally, Sarah settled herself between Jane and Kurt and they passed the food around, Sarah dominating most of the conversation. Her bubbly enthusiasm was the opposite of Kurt's quiet, reserved manner. With no prompting whatsoever, she told story after story about Kurt from their childhood, to Jane's amusement, Sawyer's delight and Kurt's discomfort, which seemed to be growing with each tale.

When Kurt glanced across the table at Jane, occasionally catching her eye, he was glad to see that she appeared to be relaxing. Having his childhood misadventures becoming the main topic of conversation wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd invited her over for dinner, but it seemed to be working out. After all, Jane had wanted to know more about that time.

At first, Jane was enjoying hearing about little Kurt getting himself into trouble. There was a tiny nagging voice in the back of her head that whispered that this was the time that she should be able to remember, because she'd been around back then, but she was able to ignore it. After all, the voice in her head was pretty much a constant companion, and she was getting better at tuning it out. Besides, by now she was also used to being conflicted about her emotions.

"Thank you… for telling that very funny and very flattering story," Kurt told Sarah, trying to let her know that enough was enough. He didn't like to be the center of attention, and certainly not when his sister's intention was to tell an eager audience about the embarrassing things he'd done as a kid.

"Come on… it was cute," Sarah protested.

Before either of them could say anything else, Jane finally spoke up. "Well, where is your dad? I'd love to meet him."

The air in the room was suddenly very tense. Sarah looked down at her food, leaving this one to Kurt, and even from across the table, Jane could feel Kurt immediately stiffen, his expression suddenly tense. "We don't talk much… anymore," he said simply. Jane could see that she'd stepped over an invisible line, and she stopped talking, looking down at her plate. Before she had time to consider whether or not she should say something else, Sawyer, who'd been fascinated with her for the entire meal, finally joined the conversation.

"Who are you?" he asked, looking up at Jane curiously. Her mind was frozen in panic. Never mind that she knew who she was supposed to be… the name Taylor Shaw meant nothing to her. That wasn't really what the boy was asking, anyway. She was sure that he wanted more than just a name. However, before she could answer, Sarah answered for her.

"Sawyer, this is Taylor." Jane set down her fork, her panic increasing exponentially. What had Kurt told her, exactly? Kurt, watching Jane's reaction, glared at his sister, who recognized that they were treading in dangerous waters, but tried to answer her son's question as simply as possible. "We were all friends when we were little kids like you, and um…"

Kurt watched Jane shift in her chair uncomfortably. The tension was radiating off of her, and more than anything he wanted to make his sister stop talking.

"…She was gone a long time, but now she's back," Sarah finished.

Jane almost managed to take a breath before Sawyer spoke again. Looking up at her, he asked simply, "Where did you go?"

Jane didn't even have time to think before the flashback hit her, taking her breath away. If she hadn't already been sitting down, she may have been knocked down by the force of it. For half a second she saw a black and white flash of a face with a scar, and then a silhouette of a figure, also in black and white. It looked like an adult – a man? – leading a child down a set of stairs.

 _Was that me?_ she wondered.

She blinked several times as the memory cleared, and then after a delay of several seconds, during which her panic increased exponentially, she jumped up suddenly from the table, stopping only long enough to right the dishes that had almost tumbled over as she'd knocked into them, in her haste.

"Excuse me," she whispered as she turned and headed straight for the door, grabbing the jacket that she'd taken off and closing the door behind her as she moved quickly down the hall and around the corner to the elevator. Behind her, Kurt jumped up as well, muttering under his breath as he made his way after her, out of the apartment and down the hall.

Jane pressed the elevator button over and over, trying to make it come faster. She was only now catching her breath, but her mind was still racing.

 _I can't do this,_ she thought frantically. _I can't. I can't be Taylor. I don't know_ _ **how**_ _._

Kurt caught up with her then, and was dismayed when, upon seeing him approaching, she looked even more afraid. That was the last thing he wanted. "Jane, Jane. Hey." He tried to be calm, to make his voice as soothing as possible, and to think of the right thing to say… but he had never been good with words, or with feelings, and this situation dealt with both.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she stuttered. "But I just... I can't do this. I thought I could but I can't..." Her last few words came out as only a whisper as her voice broke, her emotions overpowering her.

 _I can't be Taylor. I don't know how. I'm just not her, and she's the one they want me to be, not Jane. But I just_ _ **can't**_ _._

"It's okay," he replied. "We might have rushed it a little bit. No one expects you to become Taylor again overnight."

She felt his words sting her, and she had to focus in order to keep breathing. He didn't understand.

 _I can't be Taylor! I don't_ _ **know**_ _Taylor. Taylor is_ _ **gone**_ _._

So far it had been nearly a week and, with the exception of a few black and white flashes, she wasn't recovering her memories. It really felt like Taylor was never going to resurface. If Jane couldn't ever remember this person that Weller wanted so much for her to be, then would he decide that her empty shell wasn't worth bothering with? Because that was what she felt like, really. The empty shell of Taylor Shaw.

"Yeah, that... that's just it. I don't..." The elevator _ding_ ed then, signaling its arrival, and her way out. _Finally_. "...feel..." She wanted to explain it to him, but she couldn't force out any more words. All she knew was that she had to get out of there.

"What, Jane?" He would've done anything to stop her, but he wanted it to be on her terms. He knew that Sawyer's question, innocent as it was, was what had set her off, but what he didn't understand was why she seemed so desperate to get away. He'd have hoped that she'd have felt like she could talk to him about whatever was wrong, and it was disappointing that she seemed so determined to bolt. But he didn't want to make her feel like she wasn't free to go, so he didn't try to stop the elevator from closing, only hoped that _she_ would change her mind and put her own hand up to catch the door before it closed.

"I'm sorry, I'm..." But she couldn't do it, couldn't explain it to him. At that moment, all she knew was that she had to get out of there. If she'd been thinking rationally, she may have realized that the only one who'd been able to calm her down so far had been Kurt, and that if she'd just been able to articulate her feelings a little better, he might have understood his mistake. However, all she knew at that moment was that she felt trapped, crushed by the weight of his expectations of her.

There was no way for her to live up to what he wanted her to be. He wanted her to be Taylor, but she was Jane.

"Talk to me, Jane," Kurt begged, even as the elevator door was closing, but to no avail.

There he now stood in the hallway, alone. Taking a step back and leaning against the wall behind him, he stared at the elevator doors. It had happened so fast, he was still trying to process what exactly had happened. He felt guilty that he'd rushed her into this. All he'd wanted to do was help, and apparently he'd made things worse. With a sigh, he realized that he'd probably put too much pressure on her by exposing her to a situation that she hadn't been ready for.

If it hadn't been with Sarah, but instead with someone who hadn't known Taylor as a kid, maybe the dinner would have worked. If he'd been able to say, _this is Jane, her memory was erased so she doesn't remember who she was_ , and have left it at that, would it have gone more smoothly? He wondered. In any case, it was too late now.

Finally, after standing in the quiet of the hallway for several minutes, trying to decide what, if anything, he could have done so that things had not ended up the way he had, he sighed and stood up from where he'd been leaning against the wall. It didn't matter what he should have done. He was here now, and Jane wasn't. Her detail were in the lobby – he'd told them that that was where they should wait for her. Pulling out his phone, he sent them a quick text to say that if she wasn't there already, she would be momentarily. A message came back almost immediately to say that she was with them, and that they were on their way back to her safe house.

 _She hates her safe house,_ he thought. There wasn't anything he could do to change that, so that only made him feel worse about the situation… but at least she was _safe_. By now he was at the door of his apartment, and he hesitated for a second before going back in. There would be questions, he knew, from both Sarah and Sawyer, most of which he wouldn't know the answer to. What had happened? He only wish he knew for sure, other than the fact that Jane had been spooked.

 _Let her calm down. You'll see her in the morning,_ he told himself.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, ready to deal with the fallout of Jane's sudden departure.

In the lobby, Jane found her detail standing in a corner, appearing to have been standing alert the whole time she'd been gone – which made sense, since it was their job to be sure everything was secure. As she approached them without a word, one of them was reading something on the screen of his phone, then typed quickly before putting it away.

 _Probably Weller,_ she thought. Just then, she didn't know if she was frustrated or comforted by him. Yes, he wanted her to be Taylor, but she knew it was only because he cared so much. She could see that much in his eyes every time he looked at her. Of course, that was the problem to start with. He cared about _Taylor._ He had no reason to care about _Jane_. She wasn't even a person, just an inferior version of the girl he kept hoping she would turn back into. This evening had just been another unpleasant reminder of that.

 _That's not true,_ the voice in her head protested.

 _Oh, no?_ she asked, _Then who_ _ **IS**_ _Jane?_

Of course, the voice in her head couldn't answer that any better than anyone else could. She had no idea.

 _Exactly,_ she thought, winning the argument she was having with herself, and yet feeling completely lost. _Jane is no one._

In the backseat of her detail's car, she let her eyes unfocus as they sped through the darkened, empty city streets towards her safe house. Traffic was blissfully absent, and it wasn't long before they arrived. As usual, one of the two men went in and cleared the place, coming back out a few minutes later having declared it safe and allowing her to enter. She said good night to the two of them and closed the door behind her, locking it and then leaning her back against the door, exhausted. Without meaning to, she slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor, her head leaned back against the wood and her eyes closed. She had simply lost the energy to stand up any longer.

The night had been a disaster, and she was exhausted. Also, now that she was sitting on the floor, she had a hard time imagining how she was going to find the energy to stand up again. She felt an overwhelming feeling of despair just then, and she pulled her knees up in front of her, hugging them tightly and dropping her forehead against them, no longer trying to keep herself calm. What was the use? She was anything but calm, and it was a losing battle.

She was Taylor, but she wasn't. She was someone, but she was no one. Not really. She was Jane, but that name itself came from her _being_ no one. It was only her name for lack of any other. No, she wasn't Taylor, she wasn't Jane… she wasn't anyone. Someone had seen to that. Tears came then, suddenly and in a deluge. Had she not been sitting down, the force of her emotions would have knocked her over.

 _I can't,_ she thought miserably, bringing her arms up to cover her head, as if shielding herself from physical danger.

Eventually, she managed to pick up her head, then slowly to take off her boots, leaving them beside the door. A little while later, she was able to pull herself off of the floor, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on a hook inside the closet door. Slowly but surely, she dragged herself to her bedroom, moving robotically into the bathroom and emerging a few minutes later, teeth brushed. Her mind completely blank and her energy gone, she simple stripped off her shirt and pants and crawled into bed in her underwear and sports bra, wanting to forget that any of it had every happened.

It was strange, after how desperately she'd been wanting to remember, that now she suddenly just wanted to forget. All of it. This night. This day. This everything.

 _Being Jane._

She just wanted to go to sleep, where she didn't have to remember how much she couldn't remember.

But of course, it wasn't destined to be that easy that night, and she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts racing.

 _You are Taylor Shaw,_ she heard Patterson tell her, the blonde's voice echoing ominously in her head.

She found herself wishing that she was someone else, _anyone else_ , besides Kurt's childhood friend. Someone who he'd never known, just another random person, so that she wouldn't have had to constantly wonder whether every single thing he did or said was for her, or for Taylor. Of course, she knew that almost all of it was for Taylor… and that was truly a terrible feeling. It wasn't bad enough that she didn't know who she was, but she had the weight of his expectations on her shoulders as well.

And now she understood, whether he'd actually meant to say it or not. He expected her to suddenly remember everything and to "become Taylor again," as he'd said. She couldn't do that, of course, and she was sorely disappointed in herself – even though that didn't make sense.

Very gradually, her eyelids grew heavy until finally, just before the first light of morning peeked over the horizon, she fell asleep, exhausted and defeated by the previous day, as the next one was already beginning.


	42. No Interruptions

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)_**

She'd slept only a few hours – three at the most – before it was time to wake up again. It felt like far less than that – she would have sworn that it was only a few minutes, at most – before she'd had to get up and drag herself through the motions of getting ready for work. She knew that she was going to have to face him, but she wasn't sure how she was going to be able to do it. How do you look someone in the eye after fleeing the way she'd done – in the middle of a dinner party – in the middle of a _sentence_ , even? After he'd begged her to talk to him…

Like every other question about herself, she had no answer to that one, either. And just like in the case of her tattoos, her past, and her missing memories, even without answers, she had no choice but to keep moving forward.

After being up so late, a few hours of sleep took her through until morning, so that when she arrived at the FBI, this time she wasn't anywhere near the first one there. Leaving her detail, she rode the elevator as usual, cringing slightly in anticipation when the doors opened to reveal SIOC. As she stepped forward from the large metal box, she stood and took in the scene around her. The first thing she noticed was that everyone was going about their usual business, oblivious to the chaos that raged inside her head. She didn't see anyone even react to her arrival, and for a second she felt completely invisible. Of course, she wasn't sure what she preferred – being invisible, or being stared at as if she was some kind of freak because of her tattoos.

The next thing that she noticed was that Reade and Zapata were nowhere to be seen. Jane didn't see Weller right away, either, and for a second she wondered where everyone was, if they'd already gone out into the field without her. But her eyes landed on Kurt a second later, through the glass wall that separated the bullpen from Mayfair's office. They appeared to be arguing, and Jane had trouble looking away. There was no way to know for sure, of course, but she just got the feeling that whatever they were discussing so intensely had something to do with her.

Forcing herself to walk forward, she was still focused on Weller, so it was a surprise when a voice came from the side of her. "Hey, Jane," she heard Patterson say as she walked slowly forward from the elevator, and she looked over at her in surprise. Patterson was the one person she _hadn't_ been expecting to see there, assuming she would be in her lab. "I've got something," the blonde told her. "Come on over to the screens. I just texted Weller, so I'm sure he'll be joining us shortly."

"Okay," Jane replied tentatively, falling into step behind Patterson. The blonde, at least, was friendly to her, which was more than she could say for Reade or Zapata. With the pressure from Weller to resume being Taylor, and then hostility from Reade, suspicious looks from _everyone_ except Weller, even people she didn't know… she felt like she might explode from the unrelenting stress, and the lack of sleep certainly wasn't helping.

Just as they stopped by the screens, there was movement to the side of them and Jane turned to see Weller approaching, having emerged from Mayfair's office and now walking toward them, his boss close behind him.

"What do you got?" he asked Patterson as he approached, his eyes already fixed on the screens behind the tech. For a split second, his eyes shifted to and focused on Jane as he came to a stop beside her, and then just as quickly, they moved back up to the screens as Patterson began to talk about what was happening at the MWA building in Queens.

Jane focused on him even after he'd looked away from her, unable to stop herself, wondering what he was thinking after the previous night. She couldn't stop replaying the scene in her head – how she'd just left, jumping in the elevator, distraught, unable to bring herself to tell him that she was cracking under the pressure that he didn't seem to know he was putting on her with his expectations that she would suddenly remember being Taylor. Now, with him standing there beside her, she couldn't decide if his proximity brought her relief or increased her anxiety. Frustratingly, she thought she'd just felt both at once as he'd arrived.

Patterson's explanation for how a random series of numbers could trigger a hit in the tattoo database for a particular address didn't make sense at first, but she continued to explain. All the while, Jane was listening to Patterson but also very conscious of Kurt standing beside her. He hadn't looked at her again, and she couldn't figure out whether his lack of scrutiny just then should make her feel better or worse. The look he _had_ given her had been impassive, impossible to read.

 _He's listening to Patterson, that's all,_ she told herself. _Don't read into it._

As soon as Patterson finished her explanation and gave them the address, Weller was already turning around to march out of the room, on his way to get suited up. They already knew that there were hostages being held at that address, so time was of the essence. He didn't say a word to Jane, but he didn't have to – her uncertainty about where things stood between them notwithstanding, she fell in step behind him without prompting, which was proof that things had already changed a lot since the first case. That day she'd had to fight to be allowed to go into the field with the team. At this point, it was accepted not just by her but by all of them that she'd go out in the field with them. Despite her limited experience and some mistakes, not only had she proven herself valuable to them outside of the office, but her presence had been necessary to their solving more than one tattoo case.

Only a few minutes later she was sitting beside him in the car, silence hanging thick in the air between them. She wanted to apologize for her behavior the night before, but she couldn't convince her brain to relax enough to form words. At the moment, it was locked up tight. He entered their destination into the GPS and waited as the computer mapped their route, both of them staring at the small screen – it was a convenient excuse not to look at each other. Within less than a minute they had their route and were speeding off in that direction, the air in the car becoming more uncomfortable by the moment. Still, neither of them wanted to be the first one to speak. Instead, both of them stared straight ahead, hazarding only the most occasional of glances at each other.

Finally, when they'd nearly reached the building in question, Kurt finally spoke. "I know that none of this is easy…" he began slowly. "And especially because you don't remember…" He shook his head, exhaling loudly and hating that it always felt so impossible for him to express himself properly. It was something he'd struggled with for as long as he could remember.

"I hope you know that I'm trying to help… I just don't know… I can't…" he continued awkwardly, then stopped and shook his head in frustration, glancing over at her quickly to assess her reaction before looking back and the road. "I guess what I wanted to say was that… I'm sorry. For making you feel like…" His face tensed in frustration, and for a second, she wasn't sure whether or not he was done talking. "I wish I knew how to… do this." Again, he shook his head, sighing heavily and glancing at her anxiously. He wanted so badly to make her understand. If anything, he had always cared too much when it came to Taylor, but maybe now that was the problem. It was all just too much.

She looked tense and confused and sad and withdrawn all at once, and he didn't know what in the world he could do about it. Probably nothing, which was the worst part. He'd found her, and yet, it wasn't over – far from it. He'd always thought that all he needed to do was find her, but now it seemed that finding her again was only the beginning of the next mystery. Now, feeling helpless, all he wanted was to help her… somehow.

There she was, Taylor, the girl he'd been looking for practically _all his life_ , now right beside him. And yet, even twenty-five years later, it felt as though in some ways, nothing had changed. Just like at the age of ten when he couldn't protect her, even now as a trained FBI agent, he could do nothing to help her. It was as if the universe was teasing him – it had given her back to him, but was torturing him mercilessly because at the same time he didn't _really_ have her back. Despite the fact that she was sitting right beside him, Taylor wasn't there. Now she was Jane. Not that there was anything wrong with Jane. Far from it. There were so many things about Jane that he liked, so many things of which he was in awe. Besides, even with their memories intact, people changed over time…

But not like this, of course.

She'd been trying to figure out what to say since they'd left the FBI building. Guilt hung heavily on her shoulders for not having been able to calm herself down the previous night, at least enough to tell him _why_ she was not okay. As important as it was to him that she was Taylor, she knew, she just _wasn't_. He wasn't purposely applying pressure to her, after all, and clearly he didn't realize that he was doing it. But it was so hard to put it into words. Just when she had been about to speak up a few minutes before, he had started talking, so instead she listened. It made her feel a little better that he seemed about as confused as she did.

When he finished his short but sweet collection of broken sentences and didn't appear to be able to put any more of his thoughts into words, she had been about to speak up once again. _Her thoughts were almost coherent enough to start with an apology and go from there._ Of course, that was when his phone buzzed in the console, where he'd set it down, ending their time for conversation. He pushed a button to put the call through the car's speakers.

"Hey, Zapata," Kurt barked shortly, and Jane wondered if that was a hint of annoyance in his voice, or if it was her imagination.

 _Annoyance at who?_ the voice in her head asked. _Or are you projecting you own annoyance at her for calling and interrupting the conversation onto him?_

"What's up?" Kurt asked.

"You guys almost here?" she asked, sounding impatient. "I don't like the looks of this one. Something's off."

"Yeah, we're turning the corner to you in about ten seconds," Weller replied.

"Understood," Zapata's voice boomed through the car, and then the line disconnected.

That was when Jane understood that even if Zapata hadn't called, there wouldn't have been enough time for any more of their conversation then. She was going to have to wait until later to tell him how she felt.

Kurt glanced at her just before rounding the corner, giving her an apologetic half-smile, and the corners of her mouth moved in reply, though not enough to be considered a smile. As soon as they made the turn, Reade and Zapata came into view, and Kurt stopped the car beside the two, jumping out and not wasting any time before getting right down to business.

In some ways Jane was grateful for the distraction, but in others she wished they could have finished their conversation. Like everything else in her life, it seemed, her feelings were confused. Despite his clumsy apology, the tension between them was still thick, but there was no more time to deal with it as they stepped out of the car to be briefed by the other two agents who were already on the scene.

Things seemed to move quickly after that. First, Kurt spoke with one of the gunmen on the phone while Zapata was still working on hacking the video feed inside the building so that they could see what was going on inside. Zapata still hadn't finished when Kurt got off the phone, so while he waited, though it still really wasn't the right time and there was activity buzzing all around them, he pulled Jane aside right there inside the mobile command center and asked her quietly if she was okay. When she apologized for the way things had happened the night before, Kurt attempted to brush it off, citing Sarah's overwhelming nature without actually saying the words – after all, his sister was just too much sometimes, and Jane had certainly seemed overwhelmed.

 _He thinks I was overwhelmed by_ _ **Sarah**_ _? Can he really not see what he's doing?_ She was going to have to spell it out for him, as much as she didn't want to. It wasn't Sarah, she told him. She just looked at him, watching as understanding dawned in his eyes – if it wasn't his sister, that it was _him_.

He was so taken aback by those few words, he didn't know how to respond. For better or for worse, however, he didn't have time to respond. Jane had finally organized her thoughts enough to express how she was feeling. "I see the way that you look at me... and I don't know how to be this person that you lost." That was it, short and sweet. _I don't know how to be Taylor. No matter how much you want me to be._

The words were barely out of her mouth, still ringing loudly in his ears, when, before either of them could say anything else, Zapata materialized beside them. The video feeds were up and running, she informed them, and they could now see the hostage takers and their captives on camera, which would help immensely. It also meant it was time to get back to work.

Kurt wondered how it was possible that they only seemed to be able to get a maximum of five seconds of time with Jane between interruptions, but he only wondered for a second because there was no more time to lose.

It wasn't until much later, after they discovered that the MWA building was a CIA black site and the hostage taking was actually covering up a rescue of a terrorist bomb maker, that they got another chance to talk. They were back at the office by then. They had learned that the terrorist bomb maker that they were after had disappeared for a long time, at least from the CIA's perspective, and emerged as a different person. While it was a coincidence, Jane couldn't help but be reminded of herself in some ways. As they walked briskly through the hall on their way to Interrogation, she thought aloud to Kurt.

"Dodi fell off the CIA's radar years ago, right? And then, when he reemerged, he was a completely different person. I was only Taylor Shaw for five years and then something happened to me. A lot of things, maybe, none of which we know." Her voice faltered slightly at the end of her sentence. The similarities were frightening. Just the idea that she didn't know anything that she had done in her past… She didn't _feel_ like a terrorist… but how exactly _would_ a terrorist feel, anyway?

They had reached the elevator, and he pressed the button and then turned around to face her. "Yet," he corrected her stubbornly. He was determined that they were going to find out.

It felt like he wasn't getting it, whether it was because either he couldn't or he wouldn't – like he was just refusing to understand what she was trying to say. _Is he always this stubborn? Because I need him to stop._

"It feels like you're waiting for me to remember something that is never going to come," she told him bluntly.

Without missing a beat, he looked her in the eye and replied, "If your coming back has taught me one thing, it's to never give up hope." With a nod, he turned and stepped into the elevator that had opened as he'd spoken, as she stared after him.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but that answer wasn't it. In shock, she tried to take in the fact that he really believed that she would suddenly regain her memories and be Taylor. In theory, refusing to give up on people was supposed to be a good thing. But in this reality… was she going to have to always put up with him looking at her that way? Expectantly? Waiting for someone else to appear instead of her? Just the thought of him refusing to give up this time felt crushing. Because it wasn't _her_ that he wasn't giving up on, it was Taylor. So what if she _never_ remembered? What if she had to _always_ see that look, the one that was looking for Taylor?

 _You don't always have to see it,_ the voice in her head told her. _Just as long as you're around_ _ **him**_ _._ That was a whole other train of thought – not just how long he was going to wait for her memories to come back – apparently, _forever_ – but also… how long would she be here, in this limbo with the FBI? The thought of it going on indefinitely made her cringe. And yet… so did the thought of not being here, of going out into the world somewhere on her own. No memories, no connections, no one and nothing to anchor her to reality.

A million thoughts swirled at same time, in the seconds that passed as she shook her head slowly and followed him into the elevator. Still, she was unable to get his words and the noise of her chaotic thoughts out of her head. As she stood beside him in the elevator, staring at him as the doors closed and thereby shutting out the rest of the world for a matter of seconds, all she heard was the blood pounding in her ears. She wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed when she suddenly looked away, but in reality it was only seconds.

Now in a daze, she hadn't even realized that she was shaking her head again as she looked at the ground until the motion made him look over at her. A sinking feeling combined with the movement of the elevator made her a little dizzy just then.

 _He's not going to give up on me becoming Taylor. Ever._

She couldn't bear the thought, because she didn't know if she could continue to endure that look in his eyes… the one that looked past what was there, trying to see the girl that he wanted her to be, the one he remembered.

 _Must be nice to be able to do that,_ she thought, a little bit bitterly. _To remember_.

"What's wrong, Jane?" he asked. She wasn't exactly doing a great job of hiding the fact that something was bothering her, but just then that was the last of her worries.

"I've… I've been trying to figure out how to say it best, because I'm don't think you understand…" she told him slowly. She'd been looking at the floor, but now she looked up at him. When she did, she saw him watching her intently, a look of genuine concern on his face.

The elevator dinged to signal their arrival, and Jane looked up at the display tiredly, confirming that yes, they were already being interrupted yet again. She stepped out from between the doors with a sigh, Kurt right beside her. But instead of allowing their conversation to be cut short again and continuing on to Interrogation, she was surprised when he steered her into an empty hallway just around the corner and leaned his shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, facing her. He was watching her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

"No interruptions this time. Talk to me, Jane," he told her softly, just as he had the night before. "What's wrong?"

With a sigh, she nodded and smiled sadly. _Here goes nothing,_ she thought. "Okay, so here's the thing… My DNA may say I'm Taylor, but my mind doesn't know her," she told him. "And I know how badly you want me to be her. I get that… I _do_." She saw him open his mouth to say something, but she just shook her head and continued. "I don't blame you for it. I'm sure I'd be the same way in your place. But it's like… everything you do for me, every time you _look_ at me, I can't help but wonder…"

This time he didn't try to interject, just watched her, waiting for her to continue.

She bit her lip for a second, her expression pained, then forced herself to go on. "Which one of us you're talking to, doing things for, looking at, inviting over for dinner… Any of it. I know we're the same person to you, Taylor and I, but she's a stranger to me. I don't know which one of us you see when you look at me, but more and more it feels like it's Taylor. I guess, since Patterson gave us the DNA results, that that makes sense. She's the one you see, or I should say, she's the one you _want_ to see. Like I just happen to be there when you look at me, hoping to see someone else."

Once she'd started, it was as if the words wouldn't stop pouring out of her mouth. Now that she'd finally managed to stop the flood, she was somewhat mortified at how much she'd just said – never mind that it was the truth. Her eyes went directly to the floor again, and she found herself breathing slowly but deliberately, trying to calm down. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing anyone ever expected to hear, and she had a feeling he was going to be a little taken aback.

He was staring at her now, she knew, but she refused to look up at him. She attempted to ignore the feeling of his eyes boring into her, though she only felt more and more embarrassed, and dreaded his reaction more and more, the longer he was silent. She didn't have to wait long for him to speak, though even so, the silence that lasted for under a minute still felt a lot like an eternity to her.

"Jane," he said carefully, suddenly wondering if his voice was going to betray just how much what she'd said had affected him. It had hit him like a ton of bricks to hear her say what she'd said, and he realized exactly how unfair he'd been to her. He hated that she felt like she wasn't important to him. It never would have occurred to him, but it made perfect sense that she thought of Taylor as a separate person. She wasn't wrong about one thing – to him, she _was_ Taylor, one and the same, which was what made it so hard for both of them. To him, she was the long lost friend whose disappearance he felt compelled to make it up. When he looked at her, he _did_ remember their past.

Of course, that wasn't _all_ he saw in her, it just happened to be the part he had been fixated on for the past twenty-five years, so it was understandably hard _not_ to focus on that part. But just because he remembered the past didn't mean he didn't care about the woman standing in front of him. Far from it. Even if she hadn't been Taylor, he knew that her well-being would have been important to him – he knew this because even before Patterson had confirmed her identity, he had already felt invested in her case unlike any other that he'd ever worked, connected to her in a way he couldn't explain. He would have gone as far as to say that even if his name hadn't been tattooed on her back, if he'd been given her case, he would still have cared about her. That was part of why he did this job, after all – because he cared about people.

It was all moot, of course, because his name _was_ tattooed on her back, and he _had_ been the one who'd been put on the case, and it _had_ been confirmed that she was Taylor Shaw. He understood what she was saying, how she might feel conflicted, but she was right – it was incredibly complicated for _him_ to try to think of Jane and Taylor as two separate people – probably just as complicated as it was for her to think of Jane and Taylor as the _same_ person.

He was no longer leaning against the wall, his arms now at his sides. He was only just barely keeping from reaching for her, but he didn't want to spook her. "Jane, look at me. _Please_ ," he tried again, because she hadn't even raised her head the first time he'd said her name.

It wasn't a demand, but a request, and she could hear the concern in his voice. Though she was hesitant to look up after she'd just made such a detailed confession of her feelings, she found that when she _did_ slowly raise her eyes towards him, she immediately felt soothed by the expression on his face immediately, even before he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he began slowly, not sure exactly what he could say that would help. "You're not wrong, of course, but…" He exhaled loudly, trying to organize his thoughts. "Of course I remember five year old Taylor. I saw her in my head every single day for twenty-five years. I still do."

She noticed the use you 'her,' instead of 'you,' and she silently thanked him for that, giving him the faintest trace of a smile – it was all she could manage.

"And when Patterson told us that you were Taylor… Well… of course it was a relief. I could finally stop looking for her everywhere I go, in everyone I meet. And I can admit it – that I wish you could remember it all… but I suppose that's selfish of me. Because maybe it's better that you don't, all things considered… Because we just don't know…" Who knew what had happened to her since the age of five? Maybe it was better that she didn't remember, as hard as that was.

He looked at her with a pained expression for a few seconds, and she watched him with a matching one. "But whatever the reason for it all is…"

His skin was covered in goosebumps, he suddenly realized, vocalizing these thoughts, and he shook his head. "None of that matters as much as the fact that you're standing here in front of me. And not _only_ because you were Taylor a long time ago. It's not _just_ five year old Taylor that I care about, or that I see when I look at you."

There she was, blinking back at him, afraid to speak for fear that her composure would shatter. She was only hanging on by a thread as it was, and she was afraid to believe what he was saying.

"It may not feel like it, and I'm going to try to do better, but… I want you to know…" There was a pause, during which there was not a single sound from either of them, both of them holding their breath without realizing it.

"I see _you_ , Jane. Not just Taylor." He stopped then, looking like something had just occurred to him. "No, that's wrong. I _don't_ see her when I look at you. At least… not in the way you think, anyway…" he paused, his face clouding over. No matter what he was dealing with, it hadn't been fair of him to put so much pressure on her… he saw that now. It was just so hard not to, and even harder to put his thoughts into words.

"I know that ever since we found out…" He paused, hesitating to even say Taylor's name too many times in a row, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was. "I know I've been overwhelmed by it, and I'm sorry." His smile was sad when he looked at her. "There isn't much I can say except… Well, it's the truth. I do _remember_ Taylor. Vividly. Like a dream, except a hundred times more clearly. I remember her everywhere that we used to go in Clearfield. My house, our backyard, camping… I can't help it. But here and now?" He stopped, looking into her eyes and, unable to verbalize just how emphatically he wanted to tell her this, how badly he needed her to understand.

"I see _you_ , Jane. And I know it may seem like a fine line between remembering her and seeing you, and it may not feel like there's a difference… but… when I said I wasn't going to give up hope, I didn't mean I was going to wait for you to change back into her. I'm sorry if it came out that way. I only meant that…"

 _What did I mean?_ he asked himself.

"I guess… I meant that I'm going to believe that it may still happen someday. You may remember being Taylor tomorrow, or maybe in ten years. I'm not going to sit here impatiently waiting, because you don't have anything to prove to me, or anyone else. I'm glad you're here. _You_ , _Jane_. Right now. If you don't remember anything, that's okay."

Now it was his turn to look down, feeling terrible for unknowingly making her feel invisible. "I don't want you to be anyone else, okay?" he added quietly.

Her eyes closed, as she was overwhelmed by the emotions that had surfaced as he had spoken. She reached her right hand out to her side, where she grasped the wall to steady herself, but even as she did, she still felt like she was falling. That was when she felt Kurt take a step closer to her, inside the bubble of personal space that was normally maintained between most people. That personal space, however, was very often _not_ observed between the two of them, though neither of them had ever mentioned this fact out loud. It was simply a fact that when they were in contact with each other, they both felt better.

Suddenly, his right hand was resting gently on her left arm, halfway between her shoulder and her elbow, his thumb moving slowly back and forth without him even noticing it. He felt her relax beneath his fingers, and realized that even though he'd done it for her benefit, he felt better as well.

As if she was being pulled by a magnet, she felt herself powerless to resist as she leaned closer to him – not that she had any desire to resist. Before she knew it, the hand that had been on her arm had slid gently to the middle of her back. When she realized that she had leaned forward against him, so that her right cheek was tucked in against his neck, she pulled back with a start.

He didn't try to hold her where she was, as much as he didn't want her to pull away. Instead, not wanting to scare her by holding her still, his arm loosened enough to let her lean back. The hand on her back, however, remained there reassuringly. It moved up and down slowly, only an inch or two before reversing direction, and the tension that had suddenly flooded her began to dissipate.

Slowly relaxing again, she smiled at him tiredly, uncertainly. Now that she'd pulled back from him, she wished that she hadn't, but she felt too self-conscious to lean forward again.

"Do you feel any better?" he asked, his eyes not leaving her face, and she nodded and smiled as best she could.

"Yes. Thanks," she whispered, not even quite sure what she was thanking him for, besides for caring, and for trying to understand. Those two things by themselves were a big deal to her – they weren't something that she had gotten from anyone else so far.

"Then let's go down to Interrogation and keep trying to figure all this out. Okay?" he asked her. Even though he was now referring to the case, there was a softness in his voice that she didn't miss. She hadn't heard it when he spoke to anyone but her, and she wondered if that meant something. "We need to find some answers."

"Yeah, we do," she whispered, smiling shyly and nodding her head just a little. She knew that he'd taken time to talk to her despite the urgency with which they needed to act, and she felt greedy for wishing that the time there in the empty hallway didn't have to end.

Stepping back out of the side hallway beside the elevators that Kurt had pulled her into, they continued on to Interrogation as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Something _had_ happened, of course, even though the difference wasn't obvious to anyone but Jane.

All of a sudden, she didn't feel invisible anymore, and it made all the difference.

 _A/N: So there you have it, I finally used the line that's the title of the story. I'd been holding onto that in my head since the very beginning, before I even started writing this story. Once again, I had been inspired by a song (called "I See You," this one by MIKA) – it's always about songs with me – and I'd been waiting for the right time to work it in. 42 chapters later, I found it. I hope you enjoyed it._


	43. He's There

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

He'd told her that being Taylor was her starting point.

He'd told her to keep breathing. That he was there with her.

But as she fled from the hall, from the spot where he'd held her hand over his heart, she could think of nothing except that she had to escape. She had to get _away_. Not away from him… well, yes, actually… but… not _exactly_. Her feelings were so confused, she couldn't even explain them to _herself._

All she knew when Reade showed up, asking if everything was alright, was that for a split second, Weller had been distracted and she had managed to slip her hand out of his grasp. She'd felt awkward that Reade had found them there like that as it was, even though Kurt hadn't seemed to mind at all. He hadn't wanted to let go of her, but she hadn't given him a choice.

As she heard the voices of the two men fade quickly behind her, she felt relieved. But then, almost immediately, she was overwhelmed with the feeling that seemed to plague her whenever she wasn't with Kurt – the feeling that she was completely alone.

At the same time, as she waited for her panic to fade, she realized that she'd just pulled herself away from the only person who anchored her to the world around her. Though in some ways it felt like being around him made her more frantic, in other ways he was the only one who could calm her down. It was just one more thing that she didn't understand about herself.

 _Just add it to the list,_ she thought miserably, leaning back against the wall and having even less luck convincing herself to breathe than he had. She stood still, afraid to move lest she trigger another panic attack, just willing it all to stop.

It was only a few minutes later that he found her there. By the time he came around the corner after her, she was almost breathing normally. She couldn't quite make out his expression in the hallway's dim light because he had stopped several feet away from her, and after a few seconds she looked down at the floor self-consciously. Neither of them said anything, just stood and waited to see what would happen next – Kurt looking at her, Jane looking at the floor.

He was standing back, waiting to see if she would bolt again. Not knowing what to do herself, she simply waited to see what _he_ would do. After standing uncertainly for almost a minute, just watching her, he began to walk slowly forward, as if afraid of spooking her again. Still, neither of them had spoken.

"Jane," he whispered. The tone of his voice told her that he was being extra cautious about approaching her. Her head stayed down, but she raised her eyes in his direction.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head as her eyes suddenly closed. Feeling panic descending on her again, she wondered why being near him was suddenly making her feel so anxious.

 _Because around everyone else you can protect yourself,_ the voice in her head told her. _But with Weller… he seems to just walk right through all of your defenses. And that scares you._

"Hey, don't start doing that," he said, equally softly, as he continued to step forward slowly towards her. He got a sense that if he could just get close enough to her to make contact, that whatever was bothering her would release its hold. "This isn't your fault, Jane," he reminded her.

"We don't know anything," she said him miserably.

"That's not true. We know enough to have a starting point," he told her evenly. After a pause, he cleared his throat before continuing. "And I hope you know," he added hesitantly, feeling slightly self-conscious but going on anyway, "That you're not alone in this."

Once again he was standing in front of her, having stopped less than a foot away. His hands were still at his sides, which was an act of extreme self-control at that point. He wasn't sure how much longer he could sustain it.

Though her back was against the wall and he was standing very close to her, this time she didn't feel trapped. On the contrary. She'd pushed herself away from him, only to have him follow her, and now she found herself wishing he was even closer, as he'd been before when he held her hand against him. She didn't understand this shift, she only knew that she was grateful that he was there. Of course, she also knew that he wouldn't reach for her again after she'd pushed him away, and it only made her feel more desperate, and more frozen in place, staring up at him.

 _I don't deserve this,_ she thought. _I don't deserve to act like this and have him keep on being there for me._

 _To act like what?_ the voice in her head asked. _Like you're scared? You_ _ **are**_ _. Forget about_ _ **why**_ _he's there. He's there. That's enough._

Still focusing on breathing in and out, she looked down into the space between them. In the dimness, her eyes unfocused as she felt herself begin shaking. At almost the same moment, without looking up, she felt him take half a step forward. Only a few inches remained between them now, and to her surprise, he reached for her hand again, slowly bringing it to rest over his heart just as he had a few minutes before.

"Keep breathing, Jane," he told her again in a whisper, to which she could only nod.

He knew that they couldn't stay like this forever. Reade had gotten his hands on a solid lead, and they needed to follow up on it. However, at that moment there was nothing that could tear him away from her. She'd been breathing almost normally when he'd found her, but she'd gotten anxious again as they'd stood in the same space. Feeling guilty, he couldn't help but wonder if he was making her _more_ anxious than she already was, which was the last thing he wanted.

Now, however she was slowly beginning to breathe normally again. Her head was still down, and he wondered if maybe she was calming down. Then, without a word, her head dropped the few extra inches until her cheek rested against his shoulder, her face towards his neck. Without a second thought, his free hand went to her shoulder, tugging gently. It took almost no effort at all on his part as he pulled her against him, his hand gently letting go of her hand so that both his arms could slide around her back into a hug. He was pleasantly surprised when he felt her arms tentatively wrap around his lower back as well.

Once they had moved into this position, it seemed as though neither of them wanted to extract themselves. No other words were exchanged. They simply stood there, arms locked around each other, breathing in and out as the contact soothed both of them. After a few minutes, however, Jane was the first one to pick up her head and lean back slightly, just enough to look up at him. "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.

He couldn't help but notice how slowly her arms moved as she let go of him, and as she moved back gently, he released her only as much as necessary. Letting his arms loosen, he moved his hands from the middle of her back to her arms instead of letting go completely. The strange feeling, like low volt electricity, that ran between them was addictive, and he wasn't ready to let go unless he had to.

"Don't be," he replied with only the slightest hint of a smile. Then, his slight smile widening into a grin, he asked, "Ready to chase the bad guys?"

She couldn't help smiling then as well, slowly leaning back against the wall to look up at him fully. "Of course," she replied. The look on her face said that it should have been obvious.

"Good," he said quietly. His hands slid down the outsides of her arms to her hands, hesitating before letting go. "Come on."

With that, he took a step back, his eyes still trained on her, neither of them saying anything. Instead, they simply looked into each other's eyes, a silent conversation happening between them without them even having to try. Then without a word, they both turned reluctantly to walk back in the direction of the rest of the team so that they could gear up for what might be, if they were lucky enough to find the people they were looking for, quite a confrontation.

In the parking garage, the team loaded into one SUV for the drive to the cemetery. Kurt, who was usually the driver, was dealing with a phone call and tossed the keys to Reade, who would now be the driver. Zapata, deferring the front passenger seat to their team leader, climbed into the passenger side of the back seat without a word. That left only one seat in front and one seat in back for Jane and Kurt. They shared a split second glance before Kurt climbed into the front beside Reade, and Jane got into the opposite side of the back seat, beside Zapata.

The seating assignment felt strange. There were no assigned seats, of course, it had just naturally seemed to happen that, since Jane had come to the FBI, she and Kurt tended to sit next to each other – though it was often because the team split into two cars and the two of them were therefore the only two _in_ the car. It was possible that it also had something to do with Kurt's tendency to keep Jane by his side, which he'd done since the first time they'd taken her out in the field. When they had to split into pairs, after all, he almost always sent Reade and Zapata together, keeping Jane with him.

This time, beside Zapata, Jane felt tenser than usual. The car was quiet, as everyone considered the gravity of the situation silently. There was no need to say it aloud – they were all thinking the same thing: _we have to find Dodi before he does something horrible._

After arriving at the cemetery, the team had only gone a few steps from the vehicle before Jane and Kurt found themselves next to each other again. It was as if some magnetic force were drawing them closer together. Then, only seconds after Jane glanced at the Geiger counter she was wearing and determined that the radioactive material was getting closer to them, they came under fire from a gang of Dabur Zahn members who seemed to appear out of nowhere, walking out from behind the headstones not far from them and sending the team scrambling for cover. There, once again, Jane and Kurt seemed to gravitate back towards each other, taking turns covering the other as necessary. Reade and Zapata scrambled off together in another direction, and in seconds the two pairs were cut off from each other. At least initially, they were outnumbered.

In the next few minutes, there were many times when things _almost_ went completely wrong. Jane had begun making her way towards Dodi, who was carrying the urn of cesium. Along the way, it became necessary to knock out another Dabur Zahn member by hand, after her gun was wrenched away from her in close combat. She then ran full speed to cut Dodi off in his attempt to escape, just making it in time to be beside him when he tripped, and catching the urn before it broke open and exposed them all to the deadly toxin. However, since she still didn't have her gun, she faced the problem of Dodi now standing over her with _his_ gun, which was pointed right at her. But when, in true supervillain style, he paused to say a few dramatic words, that was when Kurt caught up with him, knocking him down.

Now with the upper hand, Kurt forced him up, reminding Jane to put the urn of the highly dangerous substance down to leave it for hazmat now that the area was secured. After slowly doing so, she and Kurt marched Dodi back toward the others. Once again, the two of them had worked together seamlessly, as if they had been a team for years, and not days.

However, before Dodi was secured, there was a small matter of disagreement between the FBI and the CIA. Specifically, it was a disagreement with Deputy Director Carter of the CIA. Carter had brought along some agents of his own – a _lot_ of agents, to the point where the FBI was outnumbered. In a perfect world, that shouldn't have mattered… if Carter had respected the fact that on US soil, the FBI had jurisdiction and he did _not_. But in true CIA style, Carter ignored the way things were _supposed_ to work, less than subtly letting them know that he was more than willing to have his agents _shoot_ Mayfair's team if he didn't get Dodi. Since Mayfair wasn't willing to find out if he would carry out this threat, the FBI came away empty-handed.

As the five of them stood and watched Carter and his goons walk away with Dodi, the air around them crackled with shock and frustration. This was not a team that just rolled over and gave in, and yet that was exactly what they had just been ordered to do. It had left them feeling violated, and they didn't quite understand what had just happened. Clearly, there was some kind of poisonous history between the two Deputy Directors that the rest of the team didn't know about.

"Let's go," Mayfair said, making it clear that she did not welcome questions or comments at that moment. They would debrief back at the NYO.

There was no question about it, Kurt looked angry. With Mayfair having shown up, the team now had an additional vehicle for the ride back to the office, and Reade, sharing a glance with Zapata, intended to take advantage of this fact. They both knew to avoid Kurt when he had _that_ look on his face, after all. Reade tossed the keys to the Lexus in which they'd arrived to Kurt before he and Zapata followed Mayfair without a word. That left Jane and Kurt standing in the road, watching the CIA walk away in one direction and Reade, Zapata and Mayfair walk away in the opposite direction.

Jane couldn't quite read Kurt's expression, but she did know that everything wasn't as it should be. "What just happened?" she asked after watching the CIA depart and the rest of their own team climb into the second black SUV.

"I'm not sure," Kurt replied, not having taken his eyes off of the CIA vehicles until they were out of sight. Now, finally, he turned to look at her.

After a pause, Jane asked, "Do you think she would have done it?"

For the first time since the two groups had drawn their guns on each other, Kurt looked at Jane for more than just a split second glance, studying her face and finally registering the anxiety in her expression. He repeated her words in his head, still not understanding what she was asking.

"Who would have done what?" he asked.

"Mayfair. Do you think she was actually considering letting Carter 'borrow' me?" she asked hesitantly.

Kurt shook his head emphatically, hoping to relieve some of the uncertainty that he saw in her face. "Absolutely not," he replied. "She would never do something like that."

"What did you mean when you said the CIA would do 'anything they want' to Dodi?" she asked, still looking apprehensive. It did not appear that his reassurance had helped.

He didn't want to say anything that would make her more anxious than she already looked, but he also didn't want to lie to her. Besides, the CIA's disregard for the rules weren't exactly a secret, even if their tactics weren't widely known. "We don't really know what methods they use… as confidential as everything is with them... Officially, they are not allowed to use torture, just like every other agency and organization in this country. But the problem, of course, is that they aren't exactly subject to the same kind of accountability, the same kind of scrutiny as the rest of us. You hear rumors…" He shrugged, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. "From what I've heard, it's pretty accurate to say that they do 'whatever they want' to people they capture. Waterboarding, electrocution… and worse. You name it."

"But… That's barbaric!" Jane exclaimed, shocked.

"It is," he agreed, finally turning slowly back towards the car. She turned in that direction only after he did, walking beside him quietly as her mind raced.

"There's nothing that can be done about this?" she asked. "We can't get Dodi back? And there's no one who can stop them from torturing people?"

"Unfortunately not," he told her. "It's the way the system is set up."

"So we had jurisdiction, but in the end it didn't matter," she summarized numbly, still struggling with the unfairness of the situation. He felt for her, he really did. The frosty and sometimes uneven relationship between the FBI and the CIA was a long established fact of life to him, as frustrating as it was, but it was news to her, and she was indignant. He could empathize with her, as he vaguely remembered being this upset when he'd found out that this was how the 'system' worked, long ago.

"I know it's frustrating," he replied evenly, trying to be calm without sounding like he didn't care. If there was one thing he already knew well about Jane, it was that she cared _a lot_. She hadn't had a chance to be jaded by years and years of life experience, so everything was much more black and white to her. Therefore, he wanted to be sure that she knew he understood her frustration. With a sigh he added, "The system is far from perfect. But it's the one we have to work with."

She shook her head, looking overwhelmed. "So what do we do now?" she asked quietly, at a loss.

"We go back to the office. Do our paperwork. Debrief. And keep doing what we're doing. Following the tattoos." He wished there was more than he could tell her, but that was all they could do – as frustrating as it was.

"Just like that?" she asked, looking up at him uncomprehendingly. "As if this didn't just happen?"

"We can't win them all, Jane," he told her patiently. "At the end of the day, we have to take the wins we can get. Today, we saved the city from a potential radiological bomb. I'd say that's pretty good for a day's work. It's not quite as much as we wanted to accomplish, but it'll have to be enough."

She nodded, processing his words slowly. In theory, they all made sense. They _had_ accomplished something very important. But the reality was that they had while they had saved millions of people, they'd lost what might have been a real clue to her identity. After all, why was a tattoo that had led them to Dodi on her skin to start with? No, it was just very hard for her to swallow.

Her instinct was to just stop and stand still, close her eyes against this reality and just shut out the world at that moment, but somehow, because Kurt was beside her, she convinced herself to keep walking back to the car. They walked the rest of the way to the car without speaking, Jane trudging beside Kurt numbly, feeling defeated. Kurt, meanwhile, could feel the tension but was unable to figure out what else he could say that would make her feel better. Only when they were both settled in the car did he break the silence.

"You know we're going to figure this out, right?" he asked her. "What happened to you, I mean."

She looked over at him in surprise, but didn't reply. At times like this, it didn't feel like they weregoing to figure _any_ of it out. Sure, they now knew that she was Taylor, but it felt like the rest of it was just going to continue to slip through their fingers, no matter how many tattoos they solved. Every time another lead disappeared into thin air, she felt that much more desperate. It was unfathomable to her how Kurt had kept himself going for twenty-five years as he'd searched for her, finding nothing.

With a shrug, she looked away, not wanting to admit that she was beginning to fear that no, they wouldn't figure it out. There was an ache in her chest at the thought of living this way, with no memories, forever.

"I looked for _you_ for twenty-five years, not having any proof of whether you were even out there. But this isn't like that. This time, we have a huge supply of clues, and I intend for us to solve them _all_ , if that's what it takes. Every single one," he told her emphatically, waiting for her to look up at him. "So I hope you'll trust me when I say I _know_ that we're going to figure it out _,_ " he said matter-of-factly, watching her intently. "And I'll keep looking for twenty-five more years for the answers, if that's what it takes."

For a split second, she couldn't breathe, knowing that he meant it with absolute sincerity. There was such kindness in his eyes, it took her breath away, and she almost couldn't process the fact that anyone could care as much about someone else as he seemed to care about her.

She was still looking at him uncomprehendingly when he smiled, adding, "There's a lot more certainty this time, by comparison. _This_ is the easy part." He chuckled, because this was so obviously _not_ easy, and even she almost managed a smile, the corners of her lips twitching slightly. "Okay, maybe _easy_ is an exaggeration. But it _feels_ so much easier to me."

The look on his face grew pained, and his voice almost broke when he added quietly, "Having you back… It means everything to me." Shaking his head slowly, he forced himself to smile at her. The rest of it didn't matter. Not anymore. Then growing serious once again, he paused. "I mean it when I say that we're _going to_ figure it all out. Alright?" he asked.

Unable to bring herself to show agreement that she didn't feel just then, all she could say was, "I hope it doesn't take twenty-five years to figure all this out." She sighed sadly, adding "I don't think I have that in me."

They continued to look at each other, sitting side by side, but with the center console between them. As there always was, there was something about the way he looked at her that anchored her, so that even though she felt like she was on the edge of the abyss, she didn't fall in. On the contrary, looking into his eyes pulled her back from the edge, and it was only a few intense minutes before she felt a whisper of hope, and a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked back at him. She wasn't exactly sure what the look on his face meant, but she knew that she'd never seen him look at anyone else that way. It meant _something_. That look told her in no uncertain terms that _she_ meant something to him. More than just _something_ , even.

"Well, no, of course I don't _want_ it to take that long…" he acknowledged, chuckling softly. "And I really don't think it will. I'm just saying that if it did, I still wouldn't give up. No matter what. And neither should you." He smiled again, as if something amusing had occurred to him. "I guess… I mean, I'm pretty stubborn, if you haven't noticed. So I never _was_ any good at giving up." As he spoke, he shrugged, and a grin made its way across his face. "I've always been that way. It's something that drives the team crazy, I'm pretty sure. But my _point_ is, I don't know the concept of giving up… especially not when it comes to you."

She was quiet for a minute, feeling herself blushing slightly and looking at him shyly as she digested his words.

 _He is that way because of me_ , she realized, wondering if it was for the better or for the worse.

While it _seemed_ like his 'I never give up' attitude should be a good thing, she was afraid to guess one way or the other. She hated the idea that her disappearance could have caused him to become something that he regretted. It didn't matter to her that, if that was the case, it had been entirely someone else's fault, _not_ hers. In her short time as Jane, she was already in the habit of saddling herself with the weight of the world.

For all the time that she could remember, her emotions had always sat just below the surface, ready to spill over at a moment's notice. This time was no exception, and she felt moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. This wasn't _just_ important to her. 'Important' didn't cover it. If they couldn't connect the dots on these cases, they would probably never know what had happened to her all those years ago, or all the years since. She couldn't live like that, never knowing. That was the _only_ thing that she knew sure.

If she'd been with anyone else, the weight of everything she was feeling just then would have made her shut down, look away, and if she'd been asked, to say that she was 'fine.' But she was sitting in the car beside Kurt, the one person who somehow seemed to understand her. This was not _just_ a connection that they had. No, whatever it was ran far deeper than it should have, considering that really, she barely knew him. So she glanced away for only a second to gather her thoughts before focusing on him again. More than anyone else, he made her feel like _someone_ , not just a mysterious collection of tattoo mysteries to be solved.

Her eyes now felt glassy with unshed tears and her chest ached with a mixture of gratitude and desperation. There was nothing that she could say that would properly articulate how much everything he was doing meant to her. And yet, when she looked at him, she couldn't help but think that just maybe, he already knew.

"Thanks," she replied, in a voice just above a whisper. There was so much more she wanted to say, but that would have to be enough for now, because the words were stuck in her throat.

He had been watching her just as carefully as she was watching him, and he smiled back at her, hoping that she could understand just how sincerely he meant what he'd said. Getting her back had been the greatest gift he had ever gotten, aside from maybe the gift of her friendship when they were kids. When it came to her, he would have done absolutely anything to make this whole mess right – or as close to it as it could get. As far as he was concerned, it was a given that he was going to solve the mystery, or spend the rest of his life trying.

Unable to take his eyes off of her, he smiled back at her intensely. "It's going to be okay," he told her again. "Alright?"

From anyone else, it would have sounded like an empty promise. But from Kurt… she somehow got the feeling that he would manage to make it all okay just by sheer willpower alone, if that became necessary. If there was one person in the world who _could_ do that, after all, it was _him_.


	44. What Ifs

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 _A/N: I know, I know... it has been forever. I've been spending a TON of time writing, but since I finished The Journey Home, it's all been dedicated to my book. The second draft is finished and I'm hoping it will be in some sort of finished form in another few months. In any case, I'm going to try to balance fic and that project better going forward. So much writing to do, so little time. In any case, now travel back with me to ep105._

Mayfair had dismissed them, with instructions to go home and get some sleep. After the day the team had had, they had certainly earned it. Jane had felt like staying behind for a few seconds to say thank you to their boss for not trading her to Carter was the right thing to do, but it wasn't just that. Deep down, she felt a nagging doubt about the whole situation. While she was grateful that the other woman had had her back, she was still uncomfortable with the idea that Carter could have so easily taken her into custody, had he been given the chance. After all, who knew what he would have done to her?

So when Mayfair had failed to offer reassurances, simply a cold stare and instructions to, "Rest up. Tomorrow is another day," Jane couldn't help but be unsettled. Whatever the Assistant Director's reasons for protecting her, somehow it didn't feel as though the she had done what she'd done solely for Jane's benefit. Or had she? Something definitely felt off to her as she left the conference room, and her mind swirled with possibilities.

 _Does Mayfair have some sort of secret agenda? So far she had seemed tough, but fair, but what if…?_

It was the 'what ifs' that threatened to drown her.

 _What if there was a circumstance under which Mayfair would have made a deal with Carter? What if Carter got ahold of her another way? What if Mayfair had something else in mind for her? What if Mayfair knew more than she was letting on about Jane's past? What if…_

Those worries about her present, in addition to her fears and doubts about her past, quickly built upon each other to weigh her down, and by the time she walked out of the conference room, she felt as though her feet were made of lead. She somehow managed to put one of them in front of the other to get herself out of the room, but it was difficult.

"Jane." Kurt's voice suddenly came from beside her just as the door of the conference room closed behind her, and she turned towards it instinctively. Jane was fairly sure she could feel the weight of Mayfair's stare on her back through the glass wall that separated the conference room from the hallway outside, and that feeling now propelled her forward down the hall. She very much wanted to get away from Mayfair's watchful eyes as soon as possible. "Are you alright?" he asked as she forced herself to keep moving. Not unusually, they had fallen into step beside each other.

"Not here," she told Kurt, her face tense. Her eyes stayed on him for only a second before focusing on the hall ahead of her, walking determinedly. Kurt kept up with her, looking perplexed by not pressing the issue. They rode the elevator side by side in silence – even now that she was away from Mayfair's watchful gaze, she was hesitant to say what she was feeling. After all, who knew who was listening, and the things that she feared, while probably ridiculous, had dangerous consequences.

They exited the elevator and went straight to the locker room, where Jane headed for her locker without a word. Kurt watched her uncertainly, finally moving slowly toward his own locker, wondering what exactly he had missed in the few seconds that Jane and Mayfair had been alone together. Grabbing his jacket, he closed his locker again and made his way to Jane's side. He found her staring absently into her own nearly empty locker, not even looking up when he stopped beside her. He hadn't been ready to let her leave on her own even before he found her that way, and her distraction only strengthened his resolve. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't ready to say good night to her, period.

"Let me give you a ride home," he told her. His voice jarred her from her thoughts, and she turned and looked up at him. It wasn't a question, but she knew it wasn't a demand, either. At least, not in the sense that anyone else would make a demand. He would insist, she knew, and after the day they had had and everything that she had on her mind, she found that she was glad for his insistence. After all, if it had been a question, she probably would have shrugged it off, telling him that he didn't need to go to the trouble. But she didn't actually want to say no – she felt better at the thought of having him around.

"Okay," she replied simply, and he nodded in satisfaction.

Now conscious of Kurt standing over her shoulder, Jane realized that she'd been staring into her locker at nothing. Forcing herself to slowly take her jacket out and put it on, she closed the metal door and turned around slowly to face him. He was standing only a few steps away – close, but still a respectable distance. For a second their eyes met, and she felt understanding transmitted in the look her gave her. Of course, that was impossible because she hadn't told him anything yet…

She followed him toward the locker room door, looking back to see their other three team members, who were chatting good-naturedly. "Good night," Kurt called to them, and received a staggered chorus of the same in return. Jane, walking behind him, turned in their direction but just smiled. Her brain was occupied with other things just then. She didn't see the look the other three shared after she and Kurt had turned around and walked out the door together.

It wasn't until they were in his car, Kurt having let her detail know to meet them at her new safe house, that either of them said another word. The fact that he'd restrained himself that long had surprised her, and she now found him once again looking at her, patiently yet expectantly.

"So, are you alright?" he asked her again. Under the surface was the added question of why such an innocent sounding question had had to wait until there were no prying ears around.

This time she knew she had no excuse not to answer. "I don't know," she replied slowly. When he raised his eyebrows at her questioningly, she shook her head. "Do you think that Mayfair…" She knew what she wanted to say, but not the best way to say it, which was frustrating. This was especially hard because the bond between Mayfair and the team seemed to be strong, and she didn't want to upset him by saying the wrong thing. "Is there a history between Mayfair and Carter?"

Jane's question surprised him. After all, he'd asked her if she was alright… so what did that have to do with Mayfair and Carter? With a shrug, he replied, "I don't know. They're both Assistant Directors. They've probably come in contact with each other before… But the FBI and the CIA don't exactly work together, so I don't know how much." The look on his face was understandably confused. "Why?" he added.

Shaking her head slowly, she let out a sigh. "I got the feeling that…" She paused then, knowing that even suggesting what she as thinking could come across as disloyal. After all, Mayfair had stuck up for her, today and in the past. She was the reason Jane had started being allowed out in the field in the first place… though to be fair, it wasn't simply for Jane's benefit that that decision had been made. Jane's presence had proven to be necessary.

"She rejected Carter's 'trade,' me for Dodi, but I got the feeling that… I don't know. Maybe she didn't do it for me. Like…" Shaking her head with a sigh, she looked back at him reluctantly. "I guess I'm just… worried… that under different circumstances, she would have done it."

"Did she say something to you?" Kurt asked. He'd seen Jane hang back for a second, but the exchange between the two had been short. _What could possibly have happened in that short time that has Jane so rattled?_

"It was what she didn't say," Jane replied. "I said 'Thank you for not trading me to Carter today.' Of course I was genuinely grateful that she hadn't." She hesitated before admitting what else she'd said, then added, "I told her that for a second, I thought that she had been considering it… because that was how it seemed this afternoon."

"Jane, I'm sure she…" Kurt started, but Jane cut him off, shaking her head.

"She paused just a second longer than you'd think someone would if they wanted to reassure you, but what she said didn't address what I had asked. Not even a little bit. All she said was, 'Rest up. Tomorrow's another day.' I realize that it's not an admission of guilt, but… I don't know. It's just a feeling. I can't help but wonder… She didn't actually say that she hadn't considered trading me. And that's what worries me."

He had to admit that he was surprised. It didn't sound like the Mayfair he knew – the one who was a straight shooter, who had their back. Of course, there must be a reason for her strange exchange with Jane… but Kurt couldn't imagine what. Mayfair had given her agents nothing but reasons to trust her in the years that they had worked together. So what was going on?

 _But Jane's not an agent_.

"I don't know, Jane," he told her honestly. "I can see why you might be worried, but I don't think it means anything. I've known Mayfair for a long time… I trust her."

Jane had suspected that this was how this conversation was going to go. It wasn't as though Kurt was unsympathetic to her. On the contrary – he was so clearly on Jane's side that if anything, he was more firmly on her side than she was herself sometimes. However, the loyalty he felt for Mayfair ran deep. She would have needed something much stronger than a feeling to prove what her gut was telling her.

Nodding quickly, she looked down. She should feel better, but she didn't. Admitting her concern had been the right thing to do, because she knew that she could trust Kurt, but it hadn't really solved the problem. She was still worried.

"I'm not saying that your feeling is nothing, okay? It's just that Mayfair has always looked out for us…" Glancing at her just then, the miserable look that Jane gave him made him stop talking altogether. If anything, she looked more concerned than she had when he'd started talking.

 _She's always had the team's backs,_ Jane thought sadly. _But I'm not one of them._ Then, seeing an unsettled look on his face and realizing that she must be giving away more than she'd intended, she forced her expression into something that almost resembled a smile.

"Jane, I'm going to do everything I can to keep you safe. Okay?" Kurt assured her. He focused on her intensely for a second, and then tore his eyes away to look back at the road ahead, shifting them right back to her a few seconds later. Her smile was slight, but unlike the tortured one she'd worn a few seconds before, it was real.

Somehow, while she was concerned by Kurt's loyalty to Mayfair – understandable as it was – she was also reassured by his words. She didn't doubt his sincerity, even though the two seemed to contradict each other. Hopefully there would be no reason for Kurt to have to choose between his loyalty to his boss and his desire to protect her.

"Thanks," she said quietly. There was really nothing else to say, even though such a sincerely promise felt like it deserved more than just one word. Looking up at him as he glanced back at her a few seconds later, she knew that he understood just how much those words meant to her.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, Jane looking out the window as her thoughts swirled. While she did now feel a little bit better about things, there was still far too much uncertainty. It felt as though instead of finding the answers they were looking for, every day that she was Jane led to more questions. It was exhausting.

She felt Kurt watching her now and then, and the feeling made her smile. Other people looked at her one of a few different ways – with hostility, with fear, with skepticism, with pity… The team, of course, was slowly coming around, but the way Kurt looked at her was different even from the way they did. It always had been. Even without looking at him, she could feel it. It was hard to describe the feeling, except to say that where others saw a mystery to be solved, he saw _her_. Jane – whoever that was.

And yes, in many ways she _was_ a mystery to be solved, but that was not what he saw first. He'd said it himself, hadn't he? " _I see you, Jane_. _"_ He'd said it more than once.

When they pulled up in front of her safe house, she was surprised that the car had suddenly stopped moving. She'd lost track of where they were, lost in thought.

"Thank you so much for the ride," she started, "and for everything." As she tried to think of what else she could possibly say after such an intense day, she noticed that he was shaking his head.

"Nope, I'm coming in to make sure it's safe," he informed her.

"It's a safe house," she reminded him with a grin. "Doesn't that mean it's safe?"

"That's the idea," he replied seriously, "And yet…"

 _Oh, right,_ she suddenly thought. That hadn't really meant much for her first safe house, had it?

The grin on her face evaporated and she nodded solemnly. "Okay," she said with a nod.

Realizing that he'd just reversed her good mood, he smiled slightly. "Just can't be too careful, right?" he asked. "Better safe than sorry, and all that."

"Yeah," she agreed, pushing the car door open tiredly and climbing out. He was beside her again a few seconds later on the sidewalk, and they nodded to her detail, who'd just pulled up behind Kurt's SUV. She wasn't looking forward to the moment when he left her in the safe house – no matter how safe it was, there was an emptiness to it that never left – but for now she pushed that moment out of her mind. One thing at a time.

Less than a minute later, she was closing the door behind them. "This really wasn't necessary," she told him as he walked into the middle of the main room, looking around for any sign that something was amiss.

"It's more for me than you. I just wanted to check out the new place. Make sure it's okay." He turned around and looked at her then, and began walking back toward where she'd stopped a few feet away. "Make sure you're okay."

"I… I was just a little…" She cleared her throat, looking up at him. Flustered by the intensity of his attention all of a sudden, she added, "I'll be fine." When he looked at her that way, suddenly she felt like she would be fine, if for no other reason than he would not allow anything less.

She watched him nod at her, swaying slightly as if maybe he wanted to move closer, but thought better of it.

"I'm sorry I lost it today," she whispered. Her words were inadequate, but they were better than nothing.

"It's okay. It happens." His eyes didn't leave her, and she found that this both soothed and unnerved her all at once.

He walked past her towards the door, and then turned around when he had almost reached it, as if he'd thought of something else he wanted to say. Taking several steps back in her direction as she stood and watched him, he gathered his thoughts.

"You've been through so much. If I'm making this harder for you, just tell me. That's the last thing that I want."

For a second she looked down, but when her eyes met his again, the sincerity she saw there was overwhelming.

"All these expectations… I should never have put you in that situation."

She shook her head slightly, not sure what to say. "Kurt…"

"I should never have let them take you." His voice broke, and she barely heard him say, "I'm sorry."

It was heartbreaking to watch his face and see the amount of guilt that he was feeling displayed there so plainly.

"It wasn't your fault," she insisted.

"I've heard that my whole life." The words always sounded hollow to his ears, however, no matter how sincerely they were said. _Of course it was my fault. It was my job to watch over her. I failed._

"But you haven't heard it from me." She took a step closer to him, and repeated the words that he so obviously needed to hear. "It wasn't your fault." After letting those words sink in for a second, she continued. "You told me Taylor was my starting point. But I think you're wrong." Without a second thought, she reached down and took his right hand, lifting it up and pressing it over her heart with both of her hands. Looking deep into his eyes, she told him, "You… You're my starting point."

He looked down, then back up into her eyes, simply unable to process so many emotions at once. This was just too much. After all, he'd long ago walled off the emotions associated with Taylor out of necessity. No, he wasn't very good at keeping them contained, especially since Jane had walked into his life, but this was past the point that he could deal with. The alarm bells blared in his head. He had no choice – he had to remove himself from this situation immediately. It was simply too much.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, stepping back from her and pulling his hand away from her gentle hold. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there, it was just that at that moment, he _couldn't_ be there.

"Okay." All she could do was watch him go.

He was already heading for the door, and she looked down, the spell broken.

Whatever had just happened had been intense for both of them, and though she hadn't moved, she felt herself slightly out of breath. After the door closed behind him and she managed to make her feet move, she calmed herself by walking through her safe house and inspecting every inch of it. Seeing that there was no danger to be found, she slowly returned to the front door, checking once again that it was locked and then turning off lights as she made her way to the bedroom.

Today had been… well, there were really no words for what today had been. And, based on her limited experience, tomorrow would probably be more of the same. It was time to at least try to sleep.


	45. Just Enough

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. More like it's the other way around… I've come to realize that THEY own ME. :)**_

 _A/N: I know, I know, it's been almost as long as last time since I updated this story. MONTHS. Still the same reason – plugging away at my book. I'm so excited to release those characters out into the world. Anyway, once again I promise to try harder not to make you guys wait for updates on both this story and Too Perfect. The second half of season three has definitely made my two current fics, both set so far behind where the show is now, feel calm and happy and simple. A nice escape._

 _This chapter is set in 106, which I used to think was angsty… but even that feels "Jellery" compared to 310 a few weeks back, and the few episodes since then. Generally I prefer to add in my own scenes in this story, but because they were so unfriendly to each other in most of 106, and I'm disinclined to write_ _ **more**_ _unfriendliness after seeing so much lately, I moved through this episode pretty quickly. So 106 won't get multiple chapters, like the others have so far (thus the reason this is chapter 45 and it's only episode 106!). I could at least give it a cuter ending. :) Anyway, hope you enjoy it, innocent angst and all._

She laid in bed for a very long time before she even felt sleepy. She couldn't get her mind to stop spinning over what had happened with Kurt just a little while ago, right there in her living room. It had happened so fast, and then suddenly he was gone.

Going over and over it in her mind, she tried to break it down into smaller parts. He'd come in to check her new place, he'd said. To reassure himself. Emotions had run high for both of them, as it seemed like they did so often. She could still see him standing there in front of her, staring at her intensely, and she imagined that the way she'd stared back at him had probably been just as intense. He'd crossed the room as though he was going to the door, but then he had turned around. It had been clear that there was something on his mind.

That was when he'd acknowledged that he'd had unfair expectations of her. In one way, it was a relief to her that he could see that now, after she'd carried the guilt of not being able to be the Taylor he remembered. She had tried, and failed, to explain how it felt, and she was glad that he had finally understood. Even though it had only been a few days that she'd felt the weight of them, those days filled almost her entire memory. To her, it was almost her whole life.

But he hadn't stopped there, seeming determined to shoulder all of the blame himself. He'd even apologized for letting "them" take her, all those years ago. She'd known that he blamed himself for what happened that night, but seeing the pain on his face was something different. Even though _she_ had been the victim, at that moment she had needed to console _him_.

Although she'd told him that it wasn't his fault, it didn't seem like he had believed her. The way his voice caught when he said that he'd been told all his life that it wasn't his fault, and the look on his face made it clear to her that this was going to be something that he might never be talked out of. After all, in a way she had been the lucky one. Sure, she'd lost her entire life, but he'd had twenty-five years to blame himself. It was hard to say which alternative was better – no past, or a lifetime of guilt?

She had no idea if it was even possible to reverse the damage that that would have done to him. Considering that she had no concept of how long it would feel to go through even one year, the idea of twenty-five years was simply inconceivable to her.

If she had to identify when the change in him had occurred, thinking back, it was after she'd taken his hand and put it over her own heart. It was the same reassurance that he'd given her back at the FBI, and it had calmed her down at least enough to breathe. She hoped that it would do the same for him. The more she learned about herself, about him, and about their pasts, the more it made sense. She was who she was in large part because of him, and their interwoven lives.

 _Maybe it was too much too fast,_ she thought.

Except that things between them had been intense ever since she'd met him. It had only been a few days, but it wasn't as though this was the first heavy moment that they'd shared. Far from it.

There was a difference this time, however. All of the other times when emotions had run high between them, she had been the one breaking down, or close to it, and he had been the one to pull her back. This time, _he_ had been the one barely holding on – or he had looked like it – and she'd been the one to reassure him. And maybe that was what had scared him. Jane couldn't say for certain that that was it, but one of the few things that she knew well already was that it was scary not to be in control of your own emotions.

" _You… You're my starting point."_

She didn't regret the words, she just wished that she'd known the effect that they would have had on him. Not that she knew what she would have done differently but…

 _Maybe if I'd said it differently._

She wondered if there was a way that she could have expressed what she was feeling that wouldn't have made him run. It was impossible to say, of course.

The next second he had said good night and was moving toward the door with surprising speed. He'd been spooked – she had watched it happen. She just wasn't quite sure why. Not remembering anything about personal interactions from before, she didn't really know what to make of any of it. All she knew was that she felt unsettled. She'd been trying to be reassuring, but it didn't seem to have worked.

Then again, his behavior shouldn't have surprised her. He was the lead agent on her case – it was his job to unravel the mess that she had found herself in. And yet at the same time, he was a part of the mystery. That had to be confusing to him.

So far, he was the only person who could tell her anything about her past. He couldn't fill in the gaping hole of the missing twenty-five years, but at least he could tell her something about herself. Even having that much of her life back was a relief. It wasn't enough, of course, but it was something. Which was why it made sense that he was her starting point.

She had been in a constant state of agitation for as long as she could remember, but now she felt even more uncertain that usual, having no actual experience to draw from. And so she stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours before her eyelids even began to feel heavy. If only she could quiet her thoughts, she'd have a chance at sleeping.

What felt like only minutes later, she was jolted awake. Now she was disoriented, and her heart was beating wildly.

 _What just happened?_

It had felt so very real, but it had been a dream. Was there a connection between her tangled thoughts of Kurt before she'd fallen asleep and her dream that had been so intimate? Did she _want_ there to be a connection?

" _You think it's Weller?"_ she asked Dr. Borden later, at the FBI.

" _You said it, not me."_

As if she didn't have enough to think about, now she had this to analyze. It could have been anyone in her dream. It could have been someone she'd known before. It could have been no one, simply a made up person, a figment of her very confused imagination. Or… it could have been him.

 _But how could something that was only a dream feel that real? If I didn't know for sure that it was a dream, I would have sworn that it actually happened last night, then and there._

Maybe it had been real, something from her past, and maybe it hadn't. That was the worst part. The fact that she couldn't distinguish between a dream and a memory was maddening. She'd had little enough certainty before, and now she had even less. Never mind the fact that she didn't know which she wanted it to be…

For a split second the night before, she had wondered if Kurt was going to kiss her, and she hadn't even been sure how she felt about _that._ This… well, this was far beyond a kiss.

 _But you don't hate the idea that it could have been him,_ the voice in her head mused. She refused to answer the voice, not knowing one way or the other what to think.

Suffice it to say that today she was even more confused than she'd been the day before, though she hadn't thought that that was possible. She'd been so preoccupied that morning with thinking about the previous night and her dream, that she hadn't even thought ahead to what it would be like to see him, and whether it would be awkward.

That question was quickly answered as soon as he walked into the locker room.

It was awkward. _Very_ awkward.

However, strangely enough, it wasn't awkward in the way that she would have expected.

After an exchange of uncomfortable greetings from each of them, he immediately proceeded to correct her holster position. Unlike the night before, there was no warmth in his voice, and she was certain that her surprise showed on her face. Yes, Dr. Borden had told her that morning that maybe she should try to keep her interactions with him to a professional context, but what had caused the sudden change in _him_? The only thing that she could think of was that she had been right, he had indeed been spooked by whatever had happened between them the night before.

 _Considering you want clearer boundaries, it may be a good thing that he's laying off the puppy dog eyes,_ she told herself. Of course, it would have been nice if he hadn't felt like he had to be such a jerk about it.

"You ready?" he asked her gruffly. They were about to head out to investigate the lead they'd just gotten on their latest tattoo case, and hopefully pick up the hacker who had designed Trakzer, an app that could track any government vehicle. She'd been standing off to the side of the screens room, trying to keep a low profile and stay out of the way while he'd been in Mayfair's office for what looked like a tense conversation. After their last interaction about something as simple as her holster position, keeping to herself seemed like an attractive option.

"Oh, yeah," she replied, turning to look at him as he glanced at her quickly, appearing to assess her for anything else she might be doing wrong. His accusatory glare made her feel as though she should defend herself, and the look in his eyes faded only when he seemed to be satisfied that her gear was all worn correctly.

She couldn't help but think that what he was doing wasn't fair. She wasn't an FBI agent, she hadn't received their extensive training, and she had only a few days' worth of memories. But fair or not, considering the mood that he was clearly still in, it might be better not to be confrontational this time.

 _I wanted boundaries, but I don't think is what I meant,_ she thought. _Boundaries don't have to mean hostility, do they?_ She would have to discuss the difference with Dr. Borden, and see if there was something that she was interpreting. It didn't seem like the two had to go together, but then again, what did she know? When it came down to it, almost nothing.

She consoled herself with the small comfort that he was treating the entire team with a frosty reserve, not just her. He was clearly focused on the mission, which was, of course, as it should be. Since he wasn't any nicer to anyone else on the team, she decided that maybe she shouldn't take it personally. It still stung, of course, when she compared the night before with her current reality, but at the same time, that had been overwhelming in a different way. No matter how she tried to think about it, it all felt like too much.

As usual, she found herself seated next to Kurt in the SUV. As they made their way to the building where the hacker allegedly lived, her thoughts flashed back to the night before, and once again, she was overpowered by the intimacy of her dream. Even though she didn't know who it had been, at that moment it was easiest to fill it in with him. For obvious reasons, this felt wildly inappropriate – and yet… also confusingly right at the same time. It was a relief to push those thoughts back out of her head and focus on what was going on around her.

When they arrived on the scene and got ready to move in, she was surprised when Kurt said that he wanted her following just behind him. Reade and Zapata followed behind her as they went up the stairs, as they had been instructed. On one hand, she was glad not to have been told to stay in the car, and she supposed that she should count have counted that as progress. On the other hand, she wasn't sure if he kept her close because he had faith in her despite whatever was going on between them, or because he didn't have faith in her and wanted to keep an eye on her.

This need to second guess every thought she had was exhausting, but she couldn't seem to stop.

The day didn't get easier when they brought Ana Montes in for questioning, either. The girl refused to talk to Zapata, and even though she knew that she probably shouldn't, she couldn't resist the urge to try to get through to her. Kurt wasn't going to be happy with her, but then again, Kurt wasn't happy with her anyway. If she could help them get answers, then Kurt being a little extra annoyed was worth it.

At first, Ana was just as cold with Jane as she had been with Zapata. But then something happened. Somehow, Jane got through to her, and for a few minutes, Ana was actually talking to her. It felt good to know that her instinct – that she could connect with this girl – had been right. Of course, the girl closed up again quickly, and that was when Jane heard footsteps behind her.

Glancing over at Kurt as he walked in, the split second look on his face said it all. She was going to hear about the fact that she'd let herself into the interrogation room, even though she had managed to get Ana talking. It was only a matter of time.

It took longer than she'd expected for him to confront her – a few hours, it turned out. What information they were able to get from Ana helped them form a plan to get control of Trakzer back, and that took precedence. Reade and Zapata were put in place as utility workers, prepared to extract Sean Palmer from his fortified smart house, and Patterson was getting the video link of the house's interior up for them to monitor. That left Jane and Kurt alone in the surveillance van, and Jane knew that it was only a matter of time.

The whole time they'd been in the van together, Kurt had been just as brusque with her as he'd been all day, if not more so. In a way, she wished that he'd just get it over with so that she could stop anticipating how and when and where the rebuke was going to come. And then, as soon as Reade and Zapata reported that they were in place, and while they were still waiting for the op to start, Kurt started the conversation.

It didn't take long for him to get to the root of the problem, even though he started by telling her she shouldn't have been talking to Ana. Of course, his frustration with her wasn't about Ana and she knew it, though she wondered if he did.

"In this job, you have to remain objective," he insisted.

"Really? Is that what you've done with me?" she replied without hesitation. "Stayed objective?" They stared at each other hard for a few seconds, fire in both of their eyes.

"I'm working on it," he grumbled, turning away.

 _Is it really impossible for objective and compassionate to overlap?_ she wondered. _Is this how it's going to be going forward?_

The thought was disheartening. She liked to think that those first few days when he'd actually shown her surprising amounts of kindness hadn't been the only sympathy she was going to get from him.

 _Maybe he doesn't know how to do this any better than you do,_ she wondered.

Of course, that could be just an excuse, an 'out' she was giving him.

 _Or you could be giving him the benefit of the doubt because right now you're doing exactly what you just did with Ana,_ a voice in her head suggested _. You're showing_ _ **him**_ _empathy and compassion. You understand better than anyone how much this whole thing has affected him, after all_. _You have no concept of twenty-five years of course, but you can see how hard this has been for him as well. It's crazy to think about, but maybe your lack of memories means you can handle all this better than he can._

 _Maybe,_ she conceded. She'd been half listening to Patterson, who'd just gotten the video feed working, and now she turned her attention to the case. There would be time for all this later. All of the empty, silent time at her safe house.

The team got Trakzer offline, and breathed a sigh of relief that they and other government agents were safe again. Ana hadn't known that her software had gone to criminals, so she wasn't in any real trouble. Jane had made one more attempt to connect with the young girl before she'd left, and that attempt was met with hesitation, to put it nicely. And then Ana was gone, and Jane was left to her thoughts.

Unfortunately, her ability to give Kurt the benefit of the doubt didn't help her feel better when he pulled her aside almost immediately after Ana left and scolded her for once again showing Ana compassion.

She certainly hadn't meant to tell him anything about the way she was feeling, but apparently she couldn't hold it in. To her surprise, when she vocalized the reason she was trying to engage Ana, the words she heard coming out of her mouth also described herself.

"She is completely alone in this world, and she needs something in her life other than her work."

She could see that Kurt was just as surprised as she was. This was another point where suddenly, something in him changed. For the first time that day, there was a hint of kindness in his eyes.

"Jane… Jane, if you _ever_ want to come and have a drink with the team—"

Up until today, this was probably something that she would have embraced wholeheartedly, but now… she reacted without letting him finish his sentence, not even wanting to hear the rest of it. It was a nice gesture, but it wouldn't help. Not the way things stood anymore.

"No, I... It's a little hard to relax when everybody at the table has been staring at photos of your tattooed body, all day."

He suggested that she could hang out with Sarah, but that didn't seem any better to her. No, his sister was enough a part of the whole mess to make Jane uncomfortable, at least just then, and at the same time not enough a part of it. What it came down to, as far as Jane was concerned, was that she just couldn't win.

Now he was looking at her – and maybe really seeing her for the first time that day. In a way, that was a relief. It was just a shame he couldn't have been more concerned about her that morning, instead of being so… "objective," or whatever he wanted to call it, all day long. Now everything was just… a mess, and she no longer felt like she had anyone to turn to. She'd had him for that before, and now all of a sudden, he'd become a different person.

 _I don't know what I want. From him or myself or anyone else,_ she lamented.

"I need room to breathe," she told him. It was the only way she could explain it. It was the truth, and yet… putting space between them didn't feel right either. Nothing did.

She wasn't scheduled to see Dr. Borden again that day, but somehow she found herself outside his office, in the familiar waiting area. The door was open, and he looked up when he saw her. "Jane," he said with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, no. Nothing," she assured him quickly, turning to go. She really didn't know why she'd ended up down this way.

"You look like something's on your mind. Did you want to talk about it? I'm happy to be a sounding board, if you like."

When he put it that way, it did sound like a good idea… And besides, she had no one else to talk to.

With a shrug and a slight nod, she turned back towards his door and walked in slowly. Dr. Borden stood up from behind his desk and walked across the room to close the door behind her, then joined her in the sitting area in the middle of the room.

She tried to explain things to Dr. Borden, even though it was all tangled up in her head.

"Setting boundaries is challenging," he observed.

 _That may be the understatement of the year,_ she thought.

She had to double check that Dr. Borden hadn't said anything to Kurt about their earlier conversation, just for her own piece of mind, but Borden assured her that he had not. The timing was simply too coincidental – the fact that he was pushing her away had to be his reaction to what had happened the night before, just as her confusion was.

"He's pushing me away," she told Borden.

"And that upsets you?" he asked in reply.

Now that she thought about it, she saw what should have been obvious. She'd been walking around all day with an unsettled feeling, but hadn't actually realized that the fact that he was pushing her away had upset her. Now that she did, she wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

"Perhaps Agent Weller is feeling the same need for boundaries," Borden suggested.

However, before she could form a response to his suggestion, they were interrupted by a loud pounding on the door. Only a second later it slid open on its own, revealing Kurt.

 _Or perhaps not,_ Jane thought, amazed that he had just burst into Dr. Borden's office, and wondering how he had managed to appear at exactly the second they were talking about him. But there was no time to wonder about that.

"Sorry to interrupt. Patterson needs to see us right now."

"Oh, ok," Jane replied, glancing at Dr. Borden. He simply smiled at her evenly, his face revealing no feeling either way about what was going on.

"We can pick this up again later, if you like," he offered. "Or I'll just see you next time."

"Okay, uh, thanks," she told him unsurely, slightly thrown off by Kurt's sudden appearance and the way he was watching her intently as he waited her for her to follow him. She was on her feet now, walking towards him in the doorway. His expression was still just as intense as it had been when the door had opened. He stepped out of the way as she exited, and they started down the hall together towards Patterson's lab. The tension between them was obvious.

"Sorry," he mumbled gruffly, not specifying exactly what he was sorry for. His eyes stayed forward, not even glancing at her once – it was clear that he much more than just a little bit uncomfortable.

"That's okay," she mumbled back, her body language matching his – stiff and uncomfortable, but glancing at him anyway.

They walked the rest of the way to Patterson's lab in silence, neither knowing what they wanted to say, if anything, and instead choosing to say nothing.

When they found out from Patterson that Ana was in danger, tensions ran even higher. Even so, somehow that seemed to thaw the chill between the two of them slightly. While there were still no extra words exchanged between them, when they had located Reade and Zapata and the team had quickly suited up and headed for the teenager's apartment, things felt more normal.

On her few trips into the field with the team, there had always been tension. Their work was important, and lives were usually at stake, so tension was normal. This tension felt like the other times, and the familiarity of it actually helped to smooth things out between the two of them. There was more normal work tension, and less personal tension, and it was a relief.

There was no one at Ana's apartment. Whatever they'd been doing there, they'd finished doing it and moved on. However, Ana had left them the VIN number of the truck that the criminals who'd taken her were tracking, so the team set off in pursuit.

By this point, Jane had almost forgotten her discomfort with Kurt. When they loaded into the SUV, she climbed into the closest available door, and was unfazed when she ended up in the back seat beside him. At that moment she was far more worried about Ana and what the drug runners would do to her than she was about any awkwardness.

While en route, Patterson had notified them that the missing vehicle was full of weapons, and that contact with the drivers had been lost. Things were looking worse and worse as they raced to get there in time. Jane, who was not yet experienced in this type of situation, was now sick with worry for the young girl with whom she'd identified so strongly. She didn't care if Kurt reprimanded her for it again, there was simply nothing she could do at that moment to stop herself from feeling twisted up inside over it.

 _How does he does this?_ she wondered. _And not just a few times. How do any of them do this on a regular basis?_

She could feel him watching her, but she refused to look at him. Who knew what kind of look he'd be giving her, or what sort of comment he might make.

He'd been trying not to stare at her, but the tension was coming off of her in waves, and it was obvious that she was upset. He thought back to the night before, and then to that morning – the whole day, really, and wondered how he could have been so insensitive. He hadn't been trying to hurt her, of course, but after the previous night… it was just all too much. Emotions were his weakness, and always had been, and something that he tried to avoid dealing with whenever he could. But with Jane… it was different. _She_ was an even bigger weakness for him than his emotions were. Somehow she managed to find everything inside him that he wanted to hide and bring it to the surface, and he simply didn't know what to do about it.

Looking away, he felt his eyes drawn back to her almost immediately. He glanced at her again only to find her looking even sicker with worry, then forced his eyes toward the front window, willing Zapata to drive faster.

"It's alright," he told her reassuringly, "We're going to find her."

Jane was surprised by the lack of the hard edge to his voice that had been there ever since that morning. All day long, anything he'd said to her had felt like a rebuke, even when the words weren't actually correcting her. Now, suddenly, that was gone. Yes, there was tension in his voice, but it was as though the Kurt from yesterday afternoon had suddenly reappeared. While she would have been relieved in other circumstances, at that moment she felt anything but relief. Really, Kurt had become the last thing on her mind. At that moment, all she could think about was finding Ana before it was too late.

"I know you think I'm too invested…" she began, feeling the need to defend herself.

"We're all invested now. Let's get her safe."

He wasn't looking at her anymore, and yet somehow Jane felt as if he was finally seeing her for the first time that day. They didn't speak again for the rest of the ride, but something was different. The air in the SUV was tense because time was of the essence, but still, it wasn't as uncomfortable as it had been earlier. Maybe later, that would be a relief.

One blown up SUV, one shootout and one massive explosion of a truck full of weapons later, the team had managed to get themselves and Ana safely back to the FBI. Between the firefight and the very large explosion, the drug runners were all dead. Ana would end up in protective custody, which she wasn't thrilled about, but Jane had assured her that it wasn't "that bad."

Before she went on her way, however, Ana gave the team an unexpected lead – a hint about another one of Jane's tattoos. Indeed, the steganography on her shoulder landed them right back in Patterson's lab, though they still didn't know what it meant. This was frustrating, but they consoled themselves with the fact that they had already saved the world – or at least the city – once that day, and that they would try again tomorrow.

Jane and Kurt approached the elevator at the same time, from two different directions, and she moved around him to give him plenty of space as he pushed the button. After everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, she had no idea what to expect from him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he wanted to say something.

He was gathering his courage to ask her the last question he had ever thought he would utter. More than anything else, he didn't want to say the words, but he knew that he owed it to her. After all, it should be her choice. This wasn't about him, no matter how he felt himself being ripped apart by the idea of it. It was time to bite the bullet.

"Do you want a new lead agent?"

"What?" she asked quickly, wondering if her face betrayed the worry she suddenly felt. As awkward as things were with Kurt, she couldn't imagine working with a complete stranger.

This was the first time they'd spoken one on one since he'd mumbled "Sorry," and nothing more, in the hallway hours earlier. It felt like days ago.

"On your case," he clarified quickly. "Back in the surveillance van, you said…" He paused, having to force himself to say the rest. "…I wasn't objective." Those last three words were the hardest to spit out because he knew that she'd been right, and yet he'd already fought against Mayfair for suggesting the same thing. He didn't _want_ her to have a new lead agent, because how in the world would he ever sleep at night again, knowing that someone else was being trusted with her safety? The thought chilled him to the bone. But if it was what she wanted… well then he would just have to deal with it somehow, he supposed.

"So I can step down," he explained, watching her reaction carefully. "Mayfair can assign you a new lead agent." As the words came out of his mouth, every one of them felt wrong. Surely, he wasn't saying these things… and yet, he was. No one would _take_ that position from him, but if she asked him to, he would give it up.

While he waited for her answer, time suddenly slowed to an agonizing crawl.

"I shouldn't have said that," she replied evenly, looking up at him. "I was upset."

Kurt looked down, then out into the space in front of him, but not at her, as he admitted, "You might be right." Their eyes met again for a second before he added, "Maybe there's too much baggage between us."

She paused for a few seconds, which to Kurt felt like years. Now it was her turn to look at the elevator door instead of at him as she spoke. "Or maybe, the baggage is what makes you the right guy for the job," she suggested, looking up at him only at the end. "Who else is more invested?" They held eye contact now, and she noticed his expression soften. His mouth twitched for a second, and though he didn't actually have a smile on his face, there was a hint of one in his eyes.

Today had been somewhat hellish, and yet at that moment, she could finally breathe again. Watching him, she felt her mouth twitch as well, though she wasn't quite smiling either.

They stepped into the elevator side by side, still with plenty of space between them. "Do you want me to give you a lift home?" he asked.

"Uh, my security detail is downstairs," she replied. As glad as she was that things seemed to be better between them, she didn't want to push it.

"It's no big deal," he assured her. "It is on my way home."

She wanted to say yes, she really did… And yet, today had been so confusing, so emotionally exhausting, and she just felt like she needed to ease back into things between them more slowly, and not jump headfirst back to where they had been.

He swore that she wanted to say yes. Her expression was torn, and if he wasn't mistaken, she looked sad.

"Better not," she replied, holding eye contact with him as the elevator door closed.

He nodded, neither smiling nor frowning, just the same intense expression that had been on his face through their whole conversation. Even though she'd declined, he felt better – lighter even – than he had all day. Still relieved that she hadn't asked for a new lead agent, there was a rational part of him that appreciated that she didn't want to bring things immediately back to the brink of… well, of whatever they'd been at the brink of last night. It had just been too intense… too fast.

At the same time, of course, he wanted nothing more than to be able to do something for her. To do _more_ for her. After all, he'd spent his life looking for her, and now that she was here, he could finally make up for the past.

 _Relax_ , he told himself as they rode the elevator in silence. _It all worked out. And it's not like she's going anywhere._

That was the thing that still amazed him. Ever since Patterson had confirmed that she was Taylor Shaw, he had to constantly fight the nagging feeling that she would simply have vanished into thin air the next time he went to look for her. The fact that she wasn't a figment of his imagination, that she showed up where he expected her to be, over and over… well, it was a relief every single time. Maybe it always would be.

When they got off the elevator, they saw Jane's security detail there waiting for her, acknowledging her with a nod but remaining still against the far wall until they had a sign from her. Stepping to the side of the elevator doors, Kurt turned to face her and she stopped in surprise.

"Are you okay?" he asked her. He wasn't even sure why he did it, other than he usually asked her so often, it was second nature. Besides, he knew he hadn't been very nice to her that day, and it seemed like the least he could do was to remind her that he did care about her. Clearly, being objective wasn't going to work, but now he could see that that was alright.

She looked surprised, he noticed. The faintest of smiles appeared on her face, and she nodded. "Today was rough," she admitted, "I'm sorry, I just—"

"Jane, you don't have to apologize. What you're going through, it's overwhelming."

She nodded, chuckling slightly. "Yeah, it is. And I don't know how to…" Her smile faded and she looked away with a sigh.

"Hey, it's okay," he told her quietly. He had the urge to reach out to her to reassure her with a hand on her arm or shoulder, but considering the day they had had and the fact that they were both still trying to find balance, he managed to resist that urge. Instead he looked at her sincerely, waiting for her to look up at him again. "One step at a time. We're not going to stop until we figure it out, remember? I said it before, and I'll say it again. After all, I looked for you for twenty-five years."

When she looked back up, there was the Kurt she had known up until that morning – sincere, intense, kind, and most of all, very much _not_ objective. She couldn't help but smile, just a little, despite how exhausted she suddenly felt. For a few seconds, neither of them moved. They simply watched each other.

"And no, it's not going to take that long. But however long it takes, we're going to get the answers. Alright?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," she replied in the same tone. "Thanks. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night. Get some sleep," he told her. "See you tomorrow."

He was glad to see her smile widen then. It was still small, but it was there. An actual smile. Suddenly he felt like he'd won a very important prize – he always felt that way when he made her smile. She looked at him for another second, then turned and walked towards her detail, nodding at them as they followed her out through the doors.

Standing to watch her go, he found himself smiling too. Just a little.

Just enough.


End file.
